Bon Voyage
by AmaranteX
Summary: After Ashland discovers that a mysterious killer faked her death, she returns to Wolf Trap and teams up with Will Graham to track down the clever serial killer who is leaving body after body in their wake, all while battling her growing feelings for Will. Will she reveal the murderer before it is too late? Will/OC. Sequel to 'Bon Appétit'.
1. Rebelle

It's finally here! The sequel to Bon Appétit!

Enjoy!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

_**Present time**_

She pulled her car up to the curb further down the street than she would normally park. The usually empty street was packed with parked cars, making it impossible for her small vehicle to get closer to her destination.

'Someone on the road must be having a party,' she reasoned, getting out of the car to treat her back to a much needed stretch after having driven a ridiculous amount of miles in the past couple of days. Now all she wanted was a nice hot bath, a warm meal and a comfortable bed.

Hopefully she would be able to get all of the above before she had to move on to her next planned visit.

* * *

_**One week earlier**_

It was quiet in the office. As soon as Hannibal had greeted Will at the door, and they had gotten themselves comfortable in the chairs in which Hannibal usually conducted his sessions, the silence had settled. Will's furrowed brows and faraway look had initially kept Hannibal quiet, but after a couple of minutes, he decided he had given Will enough time.

"I see Miss Vodall has been neglecting to answer your calls," Hannibal started, crossing his legs after leaning back in his chair.

The sudden sound startled Will out of his reverie.

"Why do you assume this is about her?" Will questioned, his composure the picture perfect model of casual curiosity, but Hannibal was not fooled. He fought back a smug smirk at Will's very well-concealed defensiveness. No matter how many times he poked at it, Ashland Vodall would always be a sore bruise.

"Because smitten men tend to center their thoughts around the woman they find themselves in love with," Hannibal prodded, taking in Will's crossed arms and clenched jaw.

A quiet 'hmph' of disdain came from Will.

"Love..." Will trailed off, carefully choosing his next words. "...I find to be a strange concept," he finished, pronouncing the words slowly but surely.

"How so?" Hannibal questioned, giving his undivided attention to the man in front of him.

"I find myself unable to distinguish between genuine affection and a more... distanced curiosity."

Will leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and loosely intertwining his fingers between his legs.

"Perhaps you are experiencing both," Hannibal reasoned, shifting his position forward to mirror Will's, with his forearms comfortably resting on his thighs.

"How can you be both distanced and affectionate?"

The strikingly accurate parallel to their own relation dawned on Hannibal at Will's question.

"In a balanced and healthy relationship, I would assume you can't. There is something about Ashland that keeps you curious and accounts for your distance. In order to reach the closeness one might associate with love, you need to close the distance. You need to get past your curiosity or find a way to satisfy it."

Hannibal silently hoped their bond would soon be beyond distance and secrets.

"But what if I'm not the only one keeping my distance?" Will questioned, leaning back in his seat.

Hannibal had a feeling this wasn't entirely about Ashland anymore.

"Then perhaps you both have some curiosities to satisfy."

The silence grew in the room, leaving the atmosphere heavy as Hannibal took in Will with an unblinking stare.

"If you don't mind me asking," Hannibal started, breaking the suffocating silence that was brimming with unspoken questions and returning to the matter at hand. "What is it about Ashland that has gotten you curious?"

Will hesitated, not entirely keen on answering the question.

"I can't … See her," he finally declared, meeting the curious gaze of Hannibal Lecter opposite of him.

"Then I can see how you might find yourself curious."

* * *

Her hurried steps echoed off the bare walls as Beverly Katz walked down the hallway towards the lab with a determined Will Graham on her heels.

"I'm sorry Will, but we can't get a positive ID on the body," it came apologetically from Beverly as she turned towards him and stopped to give him the bad news.

"No fingerprints, dentals, anything?" Will interrogated, prompting Beverly to turn right back around and move on towards the lab. He had been grilling her all morning about this issue.

"Have you _seen _the body?" came the incredulous reply from Beverly as she shot him a disbelieving look over her shoulder.

The body was scorched beyond recognition. No way were they going to be able to identify it.

"Not for very long, no. _Hannibal _wouldn't permit it," Will replied, his frustration seeping through every single syllable of his psychiatrist's name.

The crime scene investigator shot Will a quick look of sympathy before continuing into the lab, greeting her fellow colleagues who were preoccupied with a previous victim.

"No arms, no dentals," Beverly started, taking place at the left side of the body, as Will stood on the opposite side of the table, inspecting the charred remains in front of him.

"The only shot we'd have at a meagre ID would be by footprint, and it's not like we have a database of those lying around," she continued with a rise of an eyebrow at the dry humor, gesturing towards the thoroughly singed feet.

"Don't look at me, I've always been all for alternative identification methods! The bureau didn't seem too _excited_ about the footprint database suggestion I made a couple of years ago," Jimmy chimed in, sounding sarcastically miffed.

"You mean decades ago. Back in your forensic science class in freshman year," Brian chimed in, looking up from the most recent victim he was picking apart.

"I resent that," Jimmy shot back in a teasing tone.

"You said a footprint would give a meagre ID," Will hesitantly remarked, looking doubtfully at the singed feet while ignoring the morbidly casual banter that was going on around him.

He would pursue any potential opportunity, to be certain the body in front of them was Ashland Vodall.

"It was a joke, they're half-melted," Beverly replied, her face twisted into a look that represented sheepishness and a slightly sympathetic look. "Sorry, Will."

The look of sympathy was soon replaced by one of hesitation, and Will immediately knew what Beverly was about to say

She looked down at the body before settling her eyes back on Will.

"Look, Will…"

"Don't, Beverly."

Knowing he wasn't going to stop obsessing about this, but also knowing she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't get this on the table, she disregarded his comment and continued anyway.

"The way I see it, there are three likely scenarios here. Scenario number 1: This is Ashland," Beverly sent a nod towards the body, "Scenario number 2: Ashland has been kidnapped, in which case she's more than likely not much better off," she paused, knowing the last scenario was the least likely one. "Or scenario number 3: She left without telling anyone, and with no means of contacting her."

A short silence spread between the two, as Will regarded Beverly. He took a deep breath before looking away from the woman in front of him, and resettling his gaze on the charred body on the table.

"Reassuring as always," he stated quietly, his voice drier than the Sahara desert.

Beverly mentally gave a sigh of relief. He had taken it better than she would have expected him to, suggesting Will had already given any and every alternative scenario much thought and consideration. He knew what a disappearing-act like this normally meant.

"I'm sorry Will, but I don't want to give you false hope…"

Beverly caught Will's eyes again.

"This could very well be her," Beverly stated quietly, her look empathetic but watchful, searching his face, his eyes for any indication that this was breaking him.

Of course it was breaking him, but he couldn't allow himself to show her that. Ashland was personal to him. She was the one thing that he felt like he didn't share with the FBI or with Hannibal Lecter. Any feelings he had regarding Ashland he desperately tried to keep hidden behind a thick wall of detachment that his work provided, as he didn't know how else to keep the two things separate. Ashland had unknowingly and without a doubt unwillingly invaded the thing he tried to keep her separate from.

_'You know what they say, you don__'__t mix business with pleasure__'__, _he caught himself thinking.

The unvoiced comment brought forth a sting of self-disgust. Ashland wasn't just _pleasure_, she was much more than that. And he needed to get closure somehow. Whether it be by finding her killer or by finding her, preferably alive.

He zoned out of his muddled mind and focused all of his attention back into the conversation.

"I am fully aware of that," Will started, staring candidly into Beverly's eyes. "The problem is…" he continued, but found himself unable to finish the sentence.

He was reluctant to tell her. But it was something that needed to be done, something that needed to be said.

He looked towards the rest of the science team and found them sufficiently preoccupied for him to reveal his little secret to Beverly without it spreading to the rest of the team.

Lowering his voice, he cleared his throat to speak.

"Everything seems unclear and... Blurred. There is something more, but I can't…"

He stopped himself to gather his thoughts. He was never terribly good at monologues; that had always been Hannibal's domain.

Collecting his thoughts he strayed from his original sentence, and finished with whatever seemed to make the most sense.

"There's some sort of barrier I can't get past."

What else could you say to explain, that the empathetic web you normally find yourself entangled in is malfunctioning for one person? The situation was fairly rare and beyond bizarre.

And from the silence forming in the room, he wasn't entirely sure Beverly was picking up on his veiled insinuation before she suddenly replied, seemingly out of context.

"You know, Hannibal told me something about Ashland," she spoke, her voice confident and her eyes determined and relentless in their search for an answer.

Will nodded for her to continue.

"You can't... _See_ her?"

She had gotten the hint after all.

"No," came his simple reply. There wasn't really much more to say about it.

She wanted to know more, he could see it on her face.

"Have you stopped to think that perhaps there's a reason why everything is unclear?" Beverly questioned, her brows lifted in innocent curiosity, causing Will to regard her with skepticism.

"You're saying you think I can't see her, because she's dead," he stated in a flat tone.

Death normally didn't stop him or his _talent._

Beverly gave a sigh of frustration at Will's obvious skepticism.

"I'm _saying _it's got something to do with her, and you shouldn't disregard the fact that either this is her, or someone is out to get her," she retorted, tired of seeing Will in an obvious state of denial.

"I'm not disregarding anything, I'm trying to make sense of it. But jumping to conclusions based on an assumption without evidence doesn't seem like the way to go_,_" Will countered, putting both of his palms on the edge of table in front of him, putting his weight onto his hands to lean forward in order to get his point across with Beverly.

"Every single scenario of what could have happened has gone through my mind, and not a single one containing her murder makes sense," he continued, cementing his faith in her survival."If there's logic, there's evidence. Keep looking," he finished, his eyes blazing and daring her to refuse.

The look in his eyes immediately told her that she had lost. But if she couldn't convince him with words, she would have to do so with science. Her small nod of acceptance prompted a grateful look to pass over Will's face before he turned around and left, leaving Beverly to her work with a soft "thank you".

Will didn't make it far outside the lab before crossing paths with Jack Crawford, who was having a fast paced conversation with an unfamiliar FBI-agent. He looked away from the conversation for a second, and greeted Will with a small nod of the head, signaling that he would be with him soon, before finishing his conversation.

"...The cellphone is nowhere to be found, but I need you to pull up her phone records; we need to know who the killer was talking to, and when. Perhaps that will give us a bit of a timeline," Jack finished off, absentmindedly waving the unfamiliar FBI-agent to do his job.

"Will," Jack greeted.

"Jack," Will greeted back, quickly getting on with the conversation to get what he wanted. "I need to be put on this case."

Jack's stern demeanor shifted into a look of uncertainty, and he narrowed his eyes at Will in skepticism. He knew very well why Will wanted to be put on the case, and he wasn't sure it would be a good idea. Scratch that, it would be a terrible idea to have Will on the case.

"There was a reason I didn't want you on the crime scene," he pointed out, "Ashland Vodall was your friend," Jack finished, hoping Will would just let it go, even though he knew he wouldn't.

"Is. I can help," Will insisted, adamant about his case.

"_Was_," Jack corrected sternly, mentally adding the fact that Will Graham still believed in his friend's survival to the list of reasons why he absolutely _shouldn__'__t_ be out in the field on this one. "I'm not sure I want you in on this," he added, despite knowing the chances of finding the killer were much greater if they had Will on board if he was able to let go of the absurd notion that Ashland Vodall was still alive.

"You can trust me on this, Jack," it came from Will, his voice quiet, but with a steady and firm tone. He desperately needed the distraction.

"It's not about whether I can trust you, it's about whether you can trust your own mind," Jack exclaimed, the volume of his voice raising along with his frustration. "And if _I_ can trust it, for that matter," he added, restraining himself in order not to shout.

Will stayed silent. He couldn't argue with that. His increasing occurrences of losing time were unsettling to him, but that didn't mean he could afford to back down from this case because of it.

Jack looked around and found a few straggling FBI-agents walking around before taking a step closer to Will, not wanting what he was about to say to suddenly become common knowledge around the Bureau.

"I know that you can't _see _her," Jack said, his voice low and stern.

Will was not surprised Jack had gotten hold of that small piece of information.

"Hannibal told you," he lightly accused. He had been expecting this, he just wished his expectations hadn't been so spot on.

"He had to," Jack asserted, his voice loud and resounding in the sterile and empty hallway.

Still Will stayed silent.

The obnoxious silence Will was providing had Jack's lips firmly pushed together as he tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths through his nose, soothing his temper.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put you on a leave of absence right now," Jack demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"I don't necessarily need my _gift _to investigate, I worked in homicide for years," Will started. He hesitated, lowering his voice before continuing. "I need a chance," he insisted calmly.

"A chance for what?" Jack bellowed, his temper flaring at Will's obstinate demeanor.

"A chance to figure this out. We're a flock of sheep, Jack. And we're being herded in the wrong direction."

Jack suddenly fell silent, and the two stared at each other, daring the other to break eye contact. The silence lasted for all of 10 seconds before Jack exhaled deeply through his nose and relaxed the intensity of his glare.

"You want to find the herder," he stated quietly, gaining a "yes" from Will, putting Jack into a contemplating silence. "I'll put you on the case as a consulting special agent," it suddenly came from Jack, at which Will found himself holding back a big sigh of relief. "But I want Hannibal in on this; if he sees even the smallest thing that suggests you can't handle it, you're off the case," Jack continued, gaining only a hesitant nod of approval from his colleague.

"Now, get out of here before I change my mind," were Jack's last words as he turned and walked down the corridor in a fast, determined stride, leaving Will completely alone in the deserted hallway.

A sharp exhale that was a mixture of amusement and disbelief came from Will at the superior officer's behavior, before he turned around and swiftly stalked the opposite way, on the lookout for the second of the only two people he knew would be useful to him in this investigation: Hannibal Lecter.

* * *

She knocked on the door and waited, feeling the confusion well up in her at the muted sounds of casual chatter coming from the house.

'_Are they having guests?__'_ she wondered, hoping her visit wasn't too badly timed. She probably should have called ahead.

Nobody answered the door and she knocked again, thinking none had heard the door due to the conversing guests her parents seemed to be having.

Mid-knock the door finally swung open, and a woman stood in front of her, clad in black from head to toe and looking at her like she had seen a ghost.

In the house behind the woman, all of her friends and family could be seen, also dressed in different variants of black, while something that sounded suspiciously like Chris Tomlin's' version of 'Amazing Grace' played softly in the background, creating a subdued atmosphere in the living room of her childhood home.

* * *

Jack found just the person he was looking for in his office, only a few hallways away from his confrontation with Will Graham.

"Hannibal, just the person I was looking for," he acknowledged, putting his hand out in greeting, as Hannibal stood from his comfortable seat in front of the Special Agent's desk while smoothing down his expensive charcoal jacket, before grasping the hand in front of him.

"As you can see, you were just the person I was looking for as well," Hannibal replied, letting go of Jack's hand, before sitting back down at Jack's polite "please, sit".

"Okay, let's cut straight to the chase here, Hannibal," Jack started, as they were both seated.

"Let's," Hannibal agreed and leaned back in the chair, legs crossed and with his hands gathered in his lap.

"I need you to look after Will. He insisted on being put on the case and somehow managed to persuade me," Jack said, leaning back into his office chair, his face set in a look of displeased defeat.

"I see."

A brief silence stretched in the room with the unasked question.

"Can I persuade you?"

Before Hannibal had any chance to reply, the door to the office banged forcefully open, and the hurricane of a woman named Alana Bloom entered in a huff. Her steps were swift with purpose as she marched to the desk and slammed her palms into the wooden surface, her face alight with anger.

"Why did you put him on the case?" she asked, her tone unforgiving and the look on her normally delicate features suggesting the answer better come sooner rather than later.

'_News sure spread fast__'__,_ Jack found himself thinking before he was standing from his chair, positioning his hands on the desk to mirror Alana's.

"He needs to do this, Alana," he boomed back, standing up to Alana Bloom's challenge.

"He isn't stable Jack! He's personally involved with this case, and you're allowing him to obsess over it," she pointed out, lifting one hand from the desk to gesture the severity of her words.

As Jack didn't immediately answer, Alana looked over her shoulder to include the person she had noticed sitting in the chair when she had first entered, hopefully gaining an ally in this controversial topic.

"Hannibal. Say something, you can't possibly think this is a good idea!"

Alana was met with silence.

"I'm inclined to agree with Jack here, Alana. I'm not certain Will will be able to uphold a stable mind if he is not included in this investigation," he finally spoke, his words confident and his tone calm.

His mild mannered speech did nothing to placate Hurricane Alana, but only managed to aggravate her bothered temper further, making her turn her violently stormy mood towards Hannibal instead of Jack.

"What if he doesn't find her? What 'stable mind' will he have then? What if the only thing he gains from this is staggering guilt for not being able find her?"

Hannibal focused his composed gaze on the distraught woman in front of him.

"The guilt Will carries stems from his worries about having driven Miss Vodall away. He feels a certain responsibility for her, and the only way to redeem himself would be to find her and bring her home," Hannibal analyzed, having spent enough time with Will over the past couple of days to have his current mood figured out. Will had been reluctant to be in Hannibal's company, but Hannibal wasn't a psychiatrist for nothing, and he had diligently listened every time Will had been willing to divulge even the slightest tidbit of information about his feelings.

"In certain ways, Ashland is no different from the strays Will takes in, and though guilt may plague him for a while, it is nothing compared to the 'what if's' he would entertain if he was forced to leave the matter of her disappearance alone," Hannibal continued.

Alana's features softened into confusion and her demeanor changed, resembling when the air is let out of a ballon.

"Are you… comparing Ashland Vodall to a dog?" Alana questioned hesitantly, her eyes narrowing in questioning curiosity. It was a highly unorthodox comparison.

Hannibal lifted himself from the chair, standing by Jack's desk to face Alana on equal ground.

"The connection between them is strange, and built mostly on curiosity and a need for companionship, not entirely unlike Will's link to his dogs," he continued.

"And how does that have any effect on Will's…" Alana hesitated. " …Current situation?" she finished cautiously, not entirely sure whether she wanted to hear the reply or not.

"Due to his dedication to Miss Vodall, he will involve himself in this investigation, no matter what we say," the psychiatrist finished, turning towards Jack in a silent plead.

"Don't forget that this is a man's mental health we're playing with here, Hannibal," Alana warned. "I won't let him."

Jack, who had up until now been uncharacteristically quiet, decided it was time for him to offer his input to the discussion, and lifted his hands from the table, straightening out his back to stand at his full height.

"Well, that's not your decision to make, Alana," Jack spoke calmly, looking at the woman on the other side of the table.

"And it's yours?" she challenged, not at all liking the implications of Jack's reply.

"In case you're forgetting, I am the head of this investigation, so yes, it _is _my decision," Jack declared boldly, his voice gaining in volume before he walked towards the door to his office with clear intent to close the conversation.

Knowing the battle was lost Alana turned towards Hannibal, seeking to assuage her worries.

"Will you look after him?"

"I believe Jack was just asking me the same thing," Hannibal replied, his words making Jack halt by the doorway.

"We're on the same page then," Jack said, his tone displaying nothing of the irritation he had been broadcasting during the entirety of the discussion. His tone was pleasant, spurred on by the relief of having closed the topic of Will Graham.

"No, Jack. Right now, we're not even in the same book," Alana responded, her voice tainted with tired resignation, before she brushed past him, on the search for the only person who had any apparent say in this situation.

After all, a battle lost didn't mean she could't win the war.

* * *

The perplexing scene in front of her posed an excruciatingly inappropriate question that she had a hard time keeping in. Finding herself unable to quell her questioning mind, Ashland couldn't help but blurt out what she had so desperately been trying to hold in in front of her mother.

"Who died?"


	2. Enchevêtrement

Thank you guys for all of the reviews, favorites and follows; it's what keeps me going when my muse is on a leave, and what pushed me to finish this chapter.

Since I trust you have already noticed my apparent inability to give you guys regular updates, I won't promise the next one will be quick, but I _will _promise I will work as hard as I can on it, to make it quicker than the last one.

If you're curious and just can't wait, leave a review and I might send you a little sneak peak of the next chapter.

Now, enjoy!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

"…Ash-… Ashland?" she choked out, her eyes wide in disbelief at the person standing right in front of her; a person she still wasn't quite sure wasn't a figment of her imagination.

"Hi mom, what's going on?" Ashland asked, her previously good mood melting away like snow in the sun at the dumbstruck look on her mom's face. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she continued, straightening her back as she grew uncomfortable with the strange stare she was receiving.

"Darling? Who is it?" Ashland heard a familiar voice call in the background, and just as she focused her gaze on her father, who was now visible over her mother's shoulder, the woman in front of her crumpled, suddenly falling to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"MOM!" Ashland shrieked, immediately dropping her bag in panic in order to reach for her motionless mother.

Ashland looked up to meet the eyes of an equally shocked man whose shock wasn't directed at his immobile wife, but towards his daughter. The guests started piling into the foyer, escalating her panic as they pushed and shoved forward in order to see what all the commotion was about. A wave of disbelief cloaked the crowd as her friends and family, one by one, noticed her; their limbs stiffened and whatever movement they were carrying out before spotting her was halted abruptly, their mouths opened unattractively in awe. Had it been any other situation, Ashland would have cracked a zombie joke, but nothing seemed funny to her at the moment; it was all overshadowed by the woman lying frozen on the ground.

The few seconds it took for her to react felt like hours, but she was quick to regain her composure.

"Well, don't just stand there! Help me get her inside!" she barked, horrified at their lack of movement; no one stepped forward to help her.

Their apathy had her stumped, until the voice of her father commanded her attention.

"But Ashland. I thought… We thought… You were dead."

* * *

The damp soil squelched beneath his boots as he trudged forwards, trying to keep up with his rambunctious dogs who were enjoying the bleak February weather. Christmas had come and gone, and after the spirit of the holidays had evaporated, Will found himself longing for the coming of spring with something akin to girlish anticipation.

The sound of a second pair of boots stepping down the mud alerted him to her presence. He had a feeling she would be coming to see him.

"I thought you would be looking for Hannibal right about now," a voice spoke from behind him, confirming his suspicion.

"Alana." The greeting was neutral and free from any emotion.

"Will." Alana stepped forward, sparing a glance towards the man beside her, noticing his stiff posture and fixed gaze. Her eyes followed his, allowing an amused smile to grace her lips at the sight of the boisterous dogs enjoying themselves in the muddy field.

"So why aren't you?" she questioned, looking away from Buster as he did a particularly impressive rolling maneuver to catch Will's gaze. She was not successful.

"Contrary to popular belief, Hannibal can be… Hard to find, when he doesn't want to be found."

"What makes you think he doesn't want to be found?"

"My inability to find him."

Alana couldn't hold back a small twitch of her lips as Will finally decided to look at her. It seemed the two of them had very different experiences with Hannibal Lecter.

"Did Jack put you up to this?" Will, finally finding it within himself to turn towards her, questioned, his arms crossing over his chest as he observed her reaction.

It was only after a small silence when it became obvious that Will was patiently awaiting her response, no other words to say to her than those he had already said, that Alana felt inclined to answer: "I could ask you the same thing."

She couldn't help thinking that after this conversation, he would without a doubt have an abundance of words to say to her or - perhaps more likely - about her.

His gaze was locked on her as he softened up a bit, allowing a dry comment to pass his chapped lips: "I think Jack would rather have me in a straight jacket than on the field."

The remark was accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic tone that Alana immediately recognized as Will's way of joking.

She didn't laugh.

"You're wrong about that, you know."

She mirrored Will, crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms to soothe her chilly limbs.

"I'm fairly certain I'm not."

He turned away again, whistling sharply to get the attention of his dogs. Calling for them, Will turned back towards his house, his great band of canines right on his heels as he headed for his warm abode.

"And to answer your question: No, Jack didn't put me up to anything. Other than staying out of your business," Alana spoke, hastily extracting her boots from the mud in order to catch up with Will.

"That going _well_ for you?"

A small laugh escaped her.

"Evidently not," she spoke, the humor in her voice clear as day.

"Evidently not," Will confirmed, his tone dry but lacking the bitterness of a remark meant for mocking; he couldn't exactly blame her for questioning his motivations.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before they reached the house, a short but arduous trek that had given him sufficient time to think.

"Why did you come here, Alana?"

He stopped before the steps to his porch, turning around to face her with a straight back and his head held high. Will had decided. He knew he couldn't entirely trust her, and would not be letting her inside again. Not in his house, not in his head and definitely not in his heart. Sensing his resolve, Alana knew she had to tread carefully if she were to lead this conversation where she wanted it to go.

"Why does there need to be a 'why'? Am I not allowed to visit my friend on Valentine's Day?" she asked, a slight smile on her face that had Will scoffing at the obvious attempt to distract him from the real issue.

"What, were you expecting a date?"

The idea of a date with Alana Bloom, which might have been an appealing thought to him once, now seemed to be an unrealistic dream fabricated by a naive mind; a dream he found himself very disinclined to realize. Not that his thoughts on the matter would make much of a difference. Alana Bloom had made herself very clear on the topic of their romantic relations, or perhaps rather lack thereof.

"Were you?"

It really shouldn't have surprised him that she was challenging him in a way entirely inappropriate for two work colleagues who had almost crossed the line from professionalism into the deep waters of unsuitable office romances and disapproving workplace slander.

"I'm not in a very… Romantic mood lately."

His tone left no doubts in her mind that her comment had not had the intended effect of soothing Will's bleak mood, and instead seemed to have had the opposite effect on his already sour disposition.

Realizing her mistake, Alana inwardly winced. So much for treading carefully. Will had obviously been much more than just _friendly _with Ashland Vodall.

"Right, I'm sorry," Alana mumbled, her gaze respectfully settling on his to convey a look of sympathy.

But it was an apology he didn't find himself quite ready to accept, so he remained silent. Alana, knowing she had blown all chances of making this a pleasant visit, steeled herself and asked the dreaded question they had both been waiting for.

"Are you sure it's a good idea you're helping out with the investigation?"

Will looked away and shook his head, not in answer to her question, but to the fact that she still had the gall to mention the case of Ashland Vodall, after having so rudely made allusions to their romantic attachment.

"So that's why you're here, I... almost mistook your visit for one with friendly intentions."

The sharpness of his sarcastic tone would have pierced through the armor of lesser women than Alana Bloom, but she wasn't deterred in the slightest.

"It is. And don't tell me you weren't expecting me."

The atmosphere had - with the help of a few treacherous words - turned from buoyant to reminiscent of the chilly February weather and could easily turn from bad to worse, were the two colleagues not to watch their words.

"That doesn't stop me from hoping I'm wrong."

"No, I can see that."

Her words were laced with an underlying accusation, one he easily recognized.

"I'm not wrong about her, Alana," he calmly refuted.

"You are wrong about _me_, Will."

Her words were quiet and accompanied by an imposing gaze, one that bored itself deep into his eyes as if she were looking straight into his soul.

'_Knowing her,__'_ Will thought, _'__she probably is__'_.

"Jury's still out on that one," he disagreed, turning around to join his dogs that were patiently waiting for him by the door to his house. "Go home, Alana," he finished, opening the screen door before turning the knob to enter the living room.

"And what are you going to do then, Will?"

He paused.

"I'm going to find her"

* * *

When Linda's eyes opened, she was at a loss as to where she was. She blinked and focused her gaze on the ceiling above her, trying to clear her groggy mind.

'_Was it a dream?__' _ she thought, relaxing into the soft cushion beneath her with closed eyes for a couple of seconds to gather the courage to find out.

"Mom, are you awake?"

The sound of Ashland's voice could not have sounded any more beautiful to her ears; had she been deaf all her life and was granted the gift of hearing to first be presented with an exquisite symphony, it still would not have come close to the sound of her daughter's concerned and very much _alive_ voice.

Linda's body reacted before she could register what she was doing, her arms going around her daughter's neck, clutching onto her, like her life depended on it.

"Ashland… You're here. You're really here," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, instantly wetting the fabric of Ashland's shirt.

Ashland returned her mother's embrace, although reluctantly as she shot a confused look over her shoulder to her still bewildered father.

"Of course mom. I'm here, don't cry," she mumbled softly into Linda's ear, rubbing her back in a soothing gesture.

It took a couple of minutes before her sobs receded and the desperate wails turned into sniffles, and only then was she able to speak coherently again.

"For how long was I out?" she croaked, drying her eyes before trying to straighten out her hair and clothes; she needed to get a hold on herself.

"Only for a minute or two," Ashland's father spoke suddenly, making his startled daughter jump. He had been quiet for so long, she had almost expected him to go into chock. And apparently for a very good reason. He seemed to be having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she was alive. She just didn't understand what made them think she was dead. Ashland wasn't stupid; she knew a wake when she saw one, and given the presence of a beautifully framed high school yearbook picture starring her it seemed given who the ceremony was for. Why she seemed to be playing the leading role in this one was a question she would love to have answered.

"Why did you faint, mom?"

The silence following the seemingly simple question felt suffocating. Sensing his spouse was unable to answer, John took a deep breath and spoke the words Ashland had been dreading: "We thought you were dead."

Having her suspicions proven valid did nothing to calm the hurricane of confusion inside of her.

"Why?"

Her desperate tone triggered the return of Linda's tears, which prompted a concerned John to take Ashland's place in order to comfort his distraught wife. Linda waved him away, taking a deep breath before drying her tears.

"A man from the police department, or, honey, was it the FBI? I-I can't remember. They called and told us that your apartment building had been burned down, and that they had found your ID on…" Linda's voice choked up, but she managed to continue, calmed by her husband's comforting hand on her lower back. "…on a body and… Well, of course we insisted on going down there to Washington, you know, to identify the…" she stopped again, her voice quivering at the thought. "…the body, but we were told… That there wasn't much to identify anymore," she finished, looking as confused and defeated as Ashland was feeling.

It was hard for Ashland to keep track as Linda muddled her way through the proceedings, but she got the gist of it. Somehow, someone had faked her death.

"But I don't understand, why are you here? Haven't you talked to Bess?"

The statement startled Ashland out of her short contemplating reverie, and added to the millions of things that had her stumped.

"Bess? Why would I have heard from Bess?" she questioned, mentally absent as she - with great disdain - eyed a rude guest, who was peeking her head out of the kitchen while clearly eavesdropping. Why those people hadn't left by now was a mystery to her.

Her parents shared a look before settling their gazes on her.

"Well, she called us and told us you she had gotten a call from someone you know who had told her that you were in trouble somehow and that you needed her there," her mother spoke cautiously. They didn't understand Ashland's confusion.

"What do you mean? What kind of trouble?" Ashland demanded, her brows scrunching together in bewilderment.

"I don't know sweetie, she didn't tell us much. Told us she was going to miss her flight. She was… She sounded very distraught," Linda started, turning towards her husband for aid. "What was his name, darling? The man who called Bess?"

The contemplative look on John's face had Ashland tapping her foot in impatience, and she was almost ready to burst by the time he exhaled heavily and was ready to answer the question.

"I think it was Will, or William or something like that," his reply came.

The answer was as shocking and baffling as the rest of this conversation had been.

Why was nothing making _sense_?

"Will? I don't understand. Why would he call Bess? He doesn't even know her," Ashland questioned, her voice in a much higher pitch than usual. Somehow Ashland couldn't blame her mother for fainting.

"I suppose you'll have to ask him."

* * *

Will was watching Alana's car driving down the dirt driveway to his house, towards the equally worn, paved surface of the road leading away from Wolf Trap and into Washington, as he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. He reached for it with a sluggish hand, reluctant to be forced into another conversation that could very well lead to _another _troublesome argument.

His brows scrunched together at the unknown number causing his phone to stir in his hand, but within a short few seconds he found himself pushing the button to accept the call. Cautiously bringing the device to his ear, he mumbled a quiet "Hello?", while shoving his other hand into his pocket to shield it from the cold wind.

"Will?" it came, from a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

'_It can__'__t be__'_, Will thought, coming close to dropping the phone at the sound of the voice that rapidly melted the cold away inside him and left him feeling flushed and heated in the cold winter weather, like a heating blanket had been dropped onto his shoulders.

"Ashland?" he questioned hesitantly, carefully disregarding the firework of emotions that was erupting inside of him, distancing himself from the ambivalent range of both resentment and affection he felt welling up inside, before he was absolutely certain it was her.

He didn't want to go through losing her. _Again._

"Will," she said, her voice no louder than the whisper she had heard from her abandoned lover. "I'm sorry," she continued, not entirely knowing how to go about apologizing for this entire mess. "I shouldn't have left you like that," it came from her, knowing her actions had been rushed and very badly thought out.

"I _would _have appreciated if you hadn't left me with nothing but an unidentifiable dead body," Will replied, his tone tense but with a teasing edge to it. "A note would have done the trick."

She hesitated, not entirely knowing what to say.

"I…I called as soon as I heard," she offered weakly, knowing very well it was an extremely poor attempt to make nice. And even though she should have anticipated his reaction, the silence on the other end of the line left a spark of irritation, as she knew half of this mess wasn't entirely her fault. After all, _she_ hadn't been the one to kill whoever was now dead instead of her.

"Look, I went back to my parents because I needed to think and-, and…" she continued, her voice having gained some volume and confidence from her frustration. But her growing desperation had no influence on the man on the other end of the line, and he remained silent.

Ashland deflated a bit.

"I'm sorry… I'm a bit… Uh," she choked out, uncertain of how to proceed from here. This was turning out to be terribly awkward; the type of situation she prided herself on being able to avoid.

With a sigh, Will finally gave up trying to come off as unaffected and hesitantly answered Ashland.

"Yeah, I know, me too... I don't understand what's happening. Why would anyone…?" he trailed off, looking out towards the setting sun, creating a contemplative lull in the conversation.

"I'm not entirely sure," Ashland replied, knowing the sentence 'not entirely sure' was exaggerating how much she knew. She had no clue why anyone would be out to get her, and even less why someone would kill for her. It was all very confusing and terrifying.

"Have you contacted the police?" Will asked, changing the topic to pull the conversation towards a more comfortable subject for him.

"No, I didn't know who to call, so I figured…" Ashland trailed off.

"That you'd call me," he finished for her. "I suspect Jack Crawford will want to talk to you. I'll call him and get him to contact you," he finished, his voice distanced and clearly taking on a more business-like approach that sent a stab of hurt through Ashland.

Knowing it was her own doing she took a breath to speak, but closed her mouth before she could say anything. Staying silent for a couple of seconds she quietly asked: "Do you think I should go back?" before quickly continuing: "Not that I wasn't planning to, I just…"

"I think you'll have to. Jack will want to confirm your identity."

"And you don't?"

This time the hurt in her voice was clear as day, and he easily picked up on it, feeling the guilt wash over him like a tidal wave.

"I don't need to," his voice warmed slightly, reassuring her, before changing back to his business-like composure.

"I'll talk to you soon," he quickly finished, taking the phone from his ear to end the call before Ashland could manage more than a short: "Will-" before the phone disconnected.

He looked down to his phone and checked his contacts, looking for one person in particular.

"Jack, where can I find you?"

For the second time this day, he needed to speak to Jack Crawford.

* * *

Ashland looked down on her phone in frustration; Will had hung up on her. He had _hung up on her. _Before she had gotten the chance to ask him about the mysterious phone call to her best friend.

She had been so struck by the sound of his voice that she had completely forgotten about it until the last second of the call, where he decided to _hang up on her_. Bastard.

Looks like she would just have to ask him in person.

"Dad, can you drive me to the airport?"

* * *

After an exhaustingly frustrating conversation with Jack about Ashland, Will found himself outside the B.A.U., walking with heavy steps towards the parking lot. The day had been so full of surprises and revelations, that waking up this morning felt like months ago. He could hardly believe it had been no more than 10 hours since he was stepping out of bed, unknowing of the fact that his _not quite_ girlfriend was still alive.

This was way too much drama in one day for his taste.

"Are you working on the Ashland Vodall case?"

'_Out of the frying pan, and into the fire,__' _Will thought to himself. He was just about ready to hit someone, preferably the specific _someone_ behind him. He could not seem to get a single moment to himself to process all of the new information he had so abruptly been introduced to today.

"I thought you were banned from B.A.U. property, Miss Lounds?" Will questioned, continuing his walk towards his car in the hopes she wouldn't follow him.

He knew he shouldn't have dared to hope.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she replied shrewdly.

He heard the clicks of her heels increase in frequency, signaling her determination in keeping up with him, and, furthermore, her determination in getting her hands on whatever gossip she was trying to dig up.

"Take it as a 'stay out of my business'."

He quickened his pace, adamant in reaching his car before doing something drastic; getting arrested for punching a journalist wouldn't look too good on his resumé, assuming he'd have to find a new job if he couldn't control his urges to plant his fist in Freddie Lounds' face, an impulse which was becoming dangerously difficult to resist.

"I shouldn't be surprised, really. With Ashland Vodall being your girlfriend, who could really blame you for wanting to find her killer?"

Her voice was much too earnest, alerting him to the fact that her intentions were most likely all but. Knowing he wasn't likely to get out of this situation, he stopped and took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm while waiting for her to catch up to him. The longer he ignored her, the more likely she was to stalk him until he conceded; he might as well get it over with.

"I hope you know stalking is a felony," he stated casually, skipping the conventional greetings as he turned around to face the shifty redhead chasing him.

The smile he gained in return was forced and accentuated her sharp features, making her look more than anything like a rodent, ready to sink her teeth into every single piece of information she could get her filthy paws on.

"Only if you have a restraining order."

The implications in her casual comment were clear.

"It shouldn't be too hard to get," he warned, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

"I don't need to be around you to get the information I need," her answer came, rising to his challenge, as he had hoped she wouldn't.

"Who do you have spying for you this time?" he mumbled, turning around to continue the short walk to his car; he saw no need to further encourage her ramblings.

"I have my sources."

Will hesitated, knowing she was doing it to purposely rile him up, but started walking away from her, speaking over his shoulder to - hopefully - get the last word in this conversation.

"Of course you do; it has happened before, it will happen again. I wouldn't put it past you to hire snakes to do your bidding - you're halfway there to having scales yourself," he threw over his shoulder before he could hear her semi-jogging in her high heels, catching up to him faster than he would have liked her to.

"I'm no Medusa," she spoke, her demeanor suggesting she was strangely flattered by her own comparison.

"Your journalistic horrors have the ability to petrify people, you don't need to be a Gorgon to do that," he scoffed, _finally_ reaching his car.

He unlocked it, opened the door and got in, shutting the door in her face.

A tapping on the window alerted him to the fact that she was _still standing there,_ even though his door-slamming tendencies had been a very clear 'fuck off'.

Suppressing the savage urge to slam the door open into her face, he rolled down the window a few inches, just enough for him to hear what she was saying.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You shouldn't."

* * *

"The person you are calling is temporarily unavailable, please try again later," the automated phone message informed, for the fifth time in a row. Ashland looked down on the phone, a frown etched onto her face. Elizabeth practically lived through her smartphone, and now it was suddenly _unavailable_? Ashland couldn't even recall the last time Bess had been unavailable to take her calls.

Ashland's gut clenched with worry, but she pushed it down, rationalizing the situation. She shouldn't be worried yet; after all, Ashland herself had been unavailable for the entire duration of her road trip, having unfortunately lost her phone in all the confusion when she had hurriedly left for Montana. _That _hadn't meant anything bad; it was just an unlucky occurrence. Hopefully she would be able to say the same for her good friend.

About to call up Elizabeth's number yet again to soothe her frazzled nerves, she looked up towards the departure screen, stopping her thumb half an inch from touching the green button on the screen of her borrowed phone. She was supposed to be boarding now.

"Crap," she muttered, pocketing her phone while hurriedly walking towards gate Z-6 to the plane that would take her back home to Washington.

Through her rush, she didn't feel her phone vibrating in her pocket; a respond to her many calls that was now left unanswered.


	3. Domicile

Happy (belated) holidays people! This will be my last update for at least a month, as I'm going to Los Angeles tomorrow without my laptop and won't be home until the 1st of February; consider yourselves warned!

Also, a billion times thank you to my amazing beta, who pushed through this even though she's up to her elbows in exam prep. Without her, there would have been no update.

Enjoy!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

He looked at the phone in his hand, increasingly irritated with the number of calls he was receiving on the stolen device. The same number kept popping up on the screen, but given the previous owner didn't have it in her phone records, he elected to wait, before putting his plan into action. He needed to be absolutely certain it was the right person calling.

Letting it ring, he settled back into his comfortable armchair, waiting for the caller to hang up. It took no more than 10 rings, before the phone settled back into its natural, inanimate state. He frowned at the telephone, locking the screen and putting it down on his lap, staring at it with such intensity it was a wonder it didn't catch fire. No fire erupted, but to his immense pleasure, the screen lit right back up, with a text message stating he had 1 new voice message. Unlocking the phone - the girl, Elizabeth, had been stupid enough not to have it password protected - he dialed the number to access her voice messages, and waited.

With every word he heard through the phone, his glee grew until he couldn't hold back the small upward twitch of his lips; it was time to put his plan into action.

With one hand he brought out his own phone from the inner pocket of his jacket, preparing it for the next stage of his plan.

The stolen phone was back on his lap, vibrating with incoming calls from the same number but he ignored it, in favor of making sure everything was ready; if he made just one single mistake he could very well be caught. As the phone yet again fell silent, he picked it up in his left hand and dialed what appeared to be the new phone number for Ashland Vodall.

As it went to voice mail, he pressed the play-button on his own phone and simply waited.

* * *

Stepping out into the cold Virginia air of Wolf Trap was a relief for Ashland. Even though it wasn't much different from Montana - other than the fact that it was significantly colder - Ashland couldn't help but breathe in deeply, reveling in the smell. It felt like home.

She waited outside the airport for a couple of minutes in a line by the taxi pickup, before she was the first in line for the next cab, only to be seeing she would be riding with a sour-faced man, whose life - she suspected - had granted him far too many lemons, but no recipes for lemonade.

As he made no move to get out of the car to get her luggage, she gave an irritated huff before lugging it into the cab with her; she suspected he'd just drive off with her suitcase and leave her, if she made use of the trunk for storage.

After settling down, she routinely spoke her address to the driver before relaxing into the seat, and closing her eyes as a wave of fatigue suddenly came over her. During all this mess she hadn't really had the time to properly think about what had happened. From the time she had gotten the news, she had rushed from her childhood home and to the airport, only to rush to the gate in order to reach her flight. She had been running purely on the adrenaline. But now that she was quietly by herself, it gave her the time to think about the things she had been pushing to the back of her mind in the past few hours.

She thought about her parents and how devastated they must have been when they had gotten the call from the sheriff's department; she thought about Elizabeth, who was probably freaking out by now; she thought about Will Graham, who was waiting for her back in Wolf Trap, and she thought about her apartment, which was probably in ashes by now.

She was halfway to her destination when the last thought struck her. Initially when she had gotten into the cab, her first instinct had been to give the driver the address to her apartment building. It wasn't until now as she was thinking about her whole situation, that she remembered she was temporarily without lodgings.

Knowing the driver wasn't exactly bound to react well, she reluctantly tapped him on the shoulder, giving him a new address, which - as expected - gained her an annoyed look from the man on the front seat. He was obviously still in a bad mood.

With a sigh Ashland leaned back in her seat, just as the driver aggressively did a very illegal U-turn, almost colliding with another driver in the opposite lane. She was propelled forward and out of her comfortable position, clutching onto the seat in front of her with wide eyes. Definitely in a bad mood.

Once she was certain she wasn't going to die a horrible and bloody car-crash death, she eased herself back into the seat, and closed her eyes with a sigh. It seemed everyone was out to kill her.

The trip to Wolf Trap was short, half due to the taxi driver's irresponsible driving, the other half due to her preoccupied mind, but as she stepped out of the car with her luggage, she found herself wishing it had been just a little bit longer; her reunion with Will Graham was bound to be anything but pleasant.

With hesitant steps, she trudged forward, trying to avoid dragging her luggage through the muddy spots that were littering the ground. Relieved that she got to the steps leading to Will's porch without slipping on the death traps of mud, she lifted her bag up the stairs, groaning at the weight. It seemed that her arrival had not gone completely unnoticed, because just as she overcame the final step onto the porch, the door to Will's house opened, and out stepped its current resident along with his tail-wagging ensemble of dogs, that spilled out one after one to greet her. At least someone was happy to see her.

"Hello Will," she greeted, a subdued smile on her face, and both hands deeply buried in the soft fur of the first dog that came out to greet her.

In silence, Will found his eyes roaming over her, taking in her disheveled appearance. Ashland's aura of warmth and happiness that normally engulfed Will every time they were together seemed to have seeped out of her, leaving her looking flat and tired. Even though she was smiling, he noticed, she couldn't quite hide the look of distress from him; a look that seemed to be etched into her skin.

"Hello Ashland," he finally answered, standing awkwardly by as his dogs assaulted her. Since she didn't seem to mind, he just waited, a slight smile growing on his lips at the sight.

"What, I don't get a hug?" she questioned, straightening out after having petted the last dog in the slobbering heard.

Will hesitated at her question. From the first second he opened the door to greet her, he felt drawn to her all over again, but considering how Ashland had left him alone and naked in bed with nothing to soothe his bruised ego, he felt reluctant to comply with her request. The situation was eerily reminiscent of some cheesy Natalie Imbruglia song, and he found himself cautious about being drawn back into her charms.

After a second of deliberation where he found himself completely unable to say no to her, Will opened his arms, immediately knowing it was the right decision by the genuine smile that lit up her face. She swiftly dropped her bag, rushing into his arms, before snuggling close to him with a sigh of relief; she had desperately needed a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered into his shirt, her voice almost inaudible to Will. Neither knew quite what she was thanking him for, but both knew that two small words were loaded with a week's worth of despair and confusion that all seemed to be redeemed by a single hug.

Will and Ashland didn't move for a couple of minutes, but enjoyed the embrace in silence, conveying everything they didn't know how to say with words with their bodies.

As they let go of each other, they knew that now was not the time to talk about what had happened; they had much bigger fish to fry.

"Can I come in?" she asked hesitantly; she wasn't entirely sure how to approach the topic of her temporary need for lodgings. After all, she had been the one running from commitment, and this seemed a little too close to commitment for comfort, but since she wasn't exactly moving in for good, she hoped he was open to having her on his couch for a couple of nights.

His only reply was a nod towards the door as he opened it for her to enter. With a hesitant smile she picked up her bag and dragged it past Will and inside his living room, where she unceremoniously dropped it beside the couch with a sigh. Somehow she was grateful for her indecisiveness when she had been packing to leave for Montana, bringing her to pack half of the clothes in her closet for the trip; it was all she had now.

The sound of the door closing behind her had her turning around to face Will.

"I'm sorry to drop in on you like this, but I didn't know where to go, with my apartment building having been burned down and all that," she explained sheepishly.

"I suppose you're going to be needing a place to sleep?" Will questioned, knowing where the conversation was going and finding himself not entirely minding the potential outcome.

"I wouldn't mind a couch," Ashland offered, indirectly answering his question. "Or a dog bed, if that's the only thing that's available," she continued with a small grin, reaching down to pet the nearest canine that was wagging its tail at her to get her attention. She definitely wouldn't mind bunking with the dogs, though she might have to be more thorough while showering to wash off their distinctive smell, she thought to herself.

"The couch might be occupied," Will started, gesturing to the couch where Winston had settled, dragging a bit of mud onto the worn out piece of furniture. "But... I'm sure you could squeeze in," he continued, knowing he didn't have much to offer her in terms of comfortable sleeping arrangements.

"Really?" she asked quietly, her voice sounding devastatingly hopeful to Will. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds. As the moment was turning into something Will wasn't entirely ready to approach yet, he cleared his throat and blurted out the first thing he could think of.

"If Jack Crawford doesn't offer you a cell first."

He could have punched himself when he saw the wide-eyed look on Ashland's face.

"He isn't going to arrest me, is he?" Ashland questioned with the sudden realization that it was an entirely probable course of action for him - an FBI-agent - to take. She hadn't even stopped to think about what kinds of repercussions this might have on her, other than the fact that she needed to find another place to live, and probably had to act more carefully now that someone was obviously out to get her; she didn't think she would have to worry about the police being on her back as well.

'_Too soon,__'_ Will told himself at his meager attempt at a joke while inwardly groaning at his sudden inability to make casual conversation with the woman in front of him.

"Jack's mind works in mysterious ways," he continued, now in a more serious manner, knowing he couldn't lie to Ashland. While Will was at the current moment unable to read Jack's motivations - as his employer was keeping his cards close to his chest - he knew Jack Crawford well enough to know imprisonment wasn't entirely unlikely, whether it was for Ashland's own good, or theirs.

"So does yours," she prodded, knowing Will had to know _something._

"He might want to keep you, for your own protection," Will finally conceded after a short pause and a sigh, finding himself baffled with how quickly the conversation had gone south. Yet the only person he could blame for that was himself.

Ashland looked at him with worried eyes.

"We'll see about that," she muttered quietly, hiding her worry from him before effectively ending the conversation as she sat down on the couch, a contemplative look plastered on her fair features.

Will was weighing his options on his next course of action needed to bring Ashland out of her funk as his pocket vibrated, and his phone - for what seemed to be the millionth time that day - rang. Knowing this was a conversation better had when Ashland had calmed down her worries a bit, Will pulled out his phone and looked at the caller-ID.

He wasn't the slightest bit surprised at the caller.

"Hello Jack."

* * *

The moon was high in the sky when Ashland made her way onto the porch, settling herself on the icy wooden steps to clear her mind. The February night was cold and crisp, making her limbs quickly on their way to becoming red and numb by the time her sock-clad feet hit the wood. The blanket draped around her body did little to keep out the cold, and she shivered when she looked down at the phone in her hand, contemplating whether she should call her parents or not. She had promised to call when she had arrived, and while she knew they wouldn't mind her contacting them in the middle of the night - they'd rather know she was safe than stay up half the night worrying - she found herself reluctant to make the call. The evening had been entirely too full of revelations, and it left her completely drained and unable to simulate an acceptably neutral mood for the two minutes it would take to reassure her parents that she wasn't dead. Irritated with her own weakness, she regretfully clenched her fist around the borrowed phone as she tried gathering up some mental strength, but she failed and ended up concluding that it would have to wait until morning.

The sound of the door opening behind her startled her out of her thoughts. Turning her head towards the sound, she saw Will standing in the doorway, a couple of his more alert dogs at his heels. His hair was disheveled, and he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, looking most of all like an adorable little boy as he stood there in his boxers and t-shirt.

Noticing that he was already shivering, even though he was barely out of the door, she waved him over, patting the space next to her. He got the message, patting slowly forwards while closing the door behind him to a couple of whining dogs, who were evidently looking forward to a nice petting session.

"What's wrong?" he asked, after having gotten settled next to Ashland, her blanket thrown over the both of them, to share the warmth in the cold evening.

"I can't sleep," she whispered absentmindedly, breathing out a puff of air as she noticed how her breath turned into vapors. Will couldn't hold back the smile pushing its way onto his lips at the childish action.

"I figured that much," Will replied, his tone of voice dry with it's usual teasing edge.

Ashland didn't reply. The silence stretched between them for a couple of minutes, before she had gathered her thoughts enough to have an answer for his unasked question.

"I just… I just can't help thinking about that body," she started, her gaze, which was previously set on a random point somewhere down the gravel road, now pinned on Will. "What if it was supposed to be me?" she continued, somehow relieved that she was, for the first time since she had gotten the news, able to voice her concerns.

"It wasn't," Will's prompt answer came, the teasing tone gone from his voice only to be replaced with something serious that Ashland found only surfaced when he was analyzing a situation; something Will didn't make a habit of doing around her. "If that was meant to be you it would mean that the killer is careless. He isn't," he finished thoughtlessly, making Ashland's face drop.

"Is that supposed to cheer me up?" she muttered dryly, looking away from Will to fix her gaze back on the gravel road. For the second time that evening, Will was just about ready to punch himself for his insensitivity. _'__One would think someone with the gift of empathy would know when to shut up,__'_Will thought to himself with a sigh.

"I suppose I'm not doing a great job."

She shrugged, unintentionally pushing the blanket a little off her right shoulder in the process.

"It's okay. I'm just… Worried."

Will noticed her shivering, and pulled a hand behind her back to tug the blanket back onto her shoulder, resting it there gently as he snuggled closer to her in order to help her regain some warmth.

"I'd be worried if you weren't," he muttered, rubbing her arm that was naked and cold beneath his touch. To his disappointment, she shied away from him, leaving the warm comfort of both the blanket and his arms to stand on the porch, awkwardly leaning against the nearest pillar. _'__At least I__'__m wearing socks,__'_ she thought surveying her chosen outfit consisting of a soft, oversized tank top and shorts, while trying to rub some heat back into her arms.

"So, when are we getting up to meet your boss?" Ashland asked, changing the subject after a couple of heavily loaded seconds of silence.

"In 3 hours," Will answered, despite his reluctance to let her sudden standoffishness go. It seemed he would have to, for now.

"Right, we should go to bed then."

After Ashland shuffled inside to get a few hours of sleep, Will stayed outside for a couple of minutes, contemplating her reaction towards his advances. He knew he probably shouldn't expect too much of her, considering how she left him, but her initial attitude towards him as they were reunited had spoken otherwise. Knowing he should probably be much more angry with her than he was, and that she was probably in some way frustrated with him, he decided to keep his distance for now; at least until they both had things figured out.

Sighing at how complicated life had suddenly gotten, he pushed himself off the wooden steps and joined her inside where - despite Ashland's frosty attitude - it was warm and comforting.

* * *

She stood from the chair in the waiting room as the door to Hannibal's office opened. He swiftly scanned the room, looking for his next client, but as his gaze reached Freddie Lounds his eyes stopped to rest on her. It took him a few seconds to unclench his jaw, which had instantly reacted to the sight of the journalist in his waiting room, before he addressed her.

"Miss Lounds, I'm sorry, but my schedule for today is full," Hannibal spoke, hoping Freddie Lounds for once in her life wasn't in an intrusive mood. His chances of that happening were slim.

"I'll just wait then," she spoke, crashing his hopes of a pleasant evening. Hannibal observed her thoroughly. Her reply had been pleasant but her eyes sparkled with mirth; she knew something, and she wasn't going to leave before she had gotten her way.

Taking an extra look around the almost empty waiting room, he concluded with annoyance that his next patient was late, and that he didn't have any excuse not to let her in. Also, he couldn't deny the fact that he was curious.

"It seems my next client is late. Will you come in?" he asked reluctantly, stepping aside for her to enter his sanctuary.

"Thank you, I'm glad you could see me on such short notice," she replied, keeping up the pretense that this was a pleasant visit, and that they could actually stand being in the same room as one another.

As she entered, Freddie shed her jacket, before seating herself comfortably in one of his armchairs, much to the irritation of Hannibal. Freddie Lounds getting herself comfortable, was never a good sign when hoping for a short and to-the-point conversation; she was making a habit of overstaying her welcome.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Hannibal asked, digging deep within himself to draw enough strength to be as polite and pleasant as he would with any other patient who was to pass through these doors. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

"I think you know," her reply came in saucy quip. Freddie seemed to be in an exceedingly good mood. Yet another thing, he thought, that didn't bode well for him.

"I can see several reasons for you being here, Miss Lounds," he spoke quietly, his face set in stony folds that portrayed none of the emotions raging inside him. The laughter readily displayed on her face added another drop to the already teeming cup.

"I am in no need of a psychiatrist, thank you," she replied with a smile, seemingly completely unable to be fazed by his borderline rude remarks.

"Then I must assume you are here about the Ashland Vodall-case."

"And why must you assume that?" Freddie poked in an obvious attempt to get something out of him.

While her approach this time wasn't as subtle as she preferred, she knew Hannibal Lecter had no illusions about her, and she was free to play her cards however she liked. And since Will Graham had been adamant on remaining silent on the topic, she had hoped Hannibal Lecter would be able to share a little of his vast insight on the case, if she were to ask very nicely. Sure, she had sources in the department, but it was definitely easier - and cheaper for that matter - to get the story straight from the horse's mouth.

The severe look Hannibal sent her had her hope faltering.

"You seem to have a predilection for the dealings of Will Graham, and yet somehow you seem to have found me as your most likely source of information," Hannibal's skeptical reply came, as he too decided to sit down. He placed himself opposite of her, finding no other way to get her off his case than to indulge her curiosity, if only a little bit.

"Doctor Lecter, with all due respect, I don't need you for information on Will Graham; I have plenty of sources for that," she bluffed cheekily while leaning back, crossing her legs and carefully placing her purse on the floor beside the chair. Hannibal eyed it with great disdain, thinking back to the last time she had paid him a visit, where her purse had played a distinct role. He would search it before she left, _'yet again'_, he thought, mirroring her pose and leaning back with his legs crossed.

"My apologies, Miss Lounds, I seem to have forgotten your methods since you were last here. Excuse me for being wary of she who seems to be the very reincarnation of Echidna herself," he spoke calmly, with a hint of sarcasm evident in his tone.

His reference both confused and amused her, when thinking back to the conversation she had with Will Graham earlier that evening.

"Yet another comparison to a Greek mythological being. You and Will Graham sure seem to share the same sense of humor," Freddie spoke, raising an eyebrow.

"It is a common for friends to display interests and humor of similar kind. Which mythical creature did Will compare you to?" Hannibal questioned, quickly picking up on her meaning.

"He said I might as well have scales," Freddie replied, all humor seeping out of her; regardless of her response to Will Graham at the time, she now wasn't entirely sure how to feel about being compared to a snake-like creature.

Hannibal's lips quirked in amusement.

"I could see how Will could find a likeness to Medusa in you," his tone was as playful as Freddie's previously was. He for once thoroughly enjoyed where the conversation was going.

"What? Do my 'journalistic horrors' petrify you too?"

The sudden sarcastic amusement in her tone, Hannibal noticed, seemed feigned. It seemed Will Graham had with a single comment been able to hit the normally hard-nosed Freddie Lounds where it hurt. Interesting.

"An amusing analogy, however... I do believe you have more depth than we give you credit for," Hannibal replied, her most recent reaction towards provocation furthering his confidence in his analysis.

"Enlighten me, Doctor Lecter."

He folded his hands on top of his knee, scrutinizing the wry smile on her face before answering.

"Like Poseidon abused Medusa in the temple of Athena, you too were abused. Your employers in the journalistic field wanted your knowledge and expertise, but found you lacking for the more important positions that you so desperately longed for. The world of journalism is hard and cruel, something you without a doubt knew when you entered the field, but it swallowed you whole, only to spit you back out again, for you to become the thing even journalists despise," he analyzed, carefully taking in her feigned smile, that was growing tighter by the second.

"I see I'm not the only one able to do my research," she stated stiffly, sending him a look he couldn't quite identify. He was torn between classifying it as either her being impressed or aghast, the latter of which not being rightly justifiable for her to feel, considering the fact that she lived off inducing that exact feeling in her victims.

"No, Miss Lounds, you're not. But I would recommend, for your own good, that you cease yours on Will Graham and Ashland Vodall," he replied sternly, his threat hanging in the air between them like a cloud; heavy with the promise of train and thunder, if she were to disobey his wishes.

Curious, as always, and very reluctant to follow through with what he was asking her to do, Freddie couldn't help but ask: "And why would I do that?"

"After her death, Medusa's head was mounted on Athena's shield. I imagine you don't strive towards the same fate as her."

"As befitting the title of 'Athena' is on Jack Crawford, he doesn't scare me. I am sorry to disappoint you, Doctor Lecter," she replied, speaking his title with mocking words. She uncrossed her legs before lifting herself off the comfortable chair, feeling completely ready to leave. While she hadn't gotten what she came for, Hannibal Lecter wasn't going to scare her out of getting front-page material, even less with the threat of Jack Crawford hanging over her head. Picking up her purse, she walked towards the door with hurried steps, checking her watch on the way to see how much time she had before her next self-assigned deadline; she had an agent to bribe.

Hannibal's deep and menacing voice stopped her in her tracks before she reached the door.

"I thought you knew Greek Mythology better than that, Miss Lounds. It is Perseus and not Athena who slayed Medusa," he informed, having risen from his chair to tower over her.

"Then who plays the role of the brave Perseus in this little play of yours?" Freddie questioned quietly, standing her ground, even though Hannibal prowled closer to her.

"You should know; he's the one you're researching."

* * *

Jack Crawford was walking calmly towards the interrogation room, checking his phone for the time, as he had been held up by the science department while making his way to his office for the morning. Luckily, it was only 6.55 AM and the 5 minutes remaining until his first official appointment of the day provided him with plenty of time to walk the few hallways it would take to bring him to his intended destination. A loud voice echoing from the other end of the hall had him stop short in his track, turning around to find the person who would undoubtedly be delaying him further.

"Jack! Are you headed to interrogation?" a trainee - Valerie Cooke - he had taken on as a protégé, asked, as she with hurried steps caught up to him. She pushed her dark brown hair behind her ear, as Jack knew she did whenever she became impatient, as she so often did, and stopped in front of him to wait for his reply.

"Yes, so make it quick," he spoke evenly, one eyebrow raised at the interruption; she knew better than to delay him when he was busy, unless it was a matter of life and death.

"I have something you might want to take a look at before you go in," her answer came. Her tanned hands stuck out a pale folder for him to take, containing the information she had been on 24-hour watch for. Hopefully, she caught herself thinking, it would be as useful and important as she had deemed it to be, her assessment based on all of the information she had spent her sleepless nights reading up on while waiting for the database to give a hit. If not, all her hard work would be for nothing.

"What is it, her phone records?" Jack asked gruffly, severely questioning his judgment on appointing Cooke as his trainee if she was to make him late for a very important appointment for mere _phone records._Sensing that they were nearing dangerous territory, Valerie swiftly pushed on.

"Yes, but it's something else too... Remember you had me put a tag on anything closely related to Ashland Vodall?" she questioned rhetorically, knowing damn well he remembered.

"Yes?" Jack prompted as expected, his tone severe and impatient.

"This just came in," she answered, completely unaffected by Jack's stern demeanor; an immunity that came with having worked as his subordinate for the better part of 2 months.

The folder swiftly changed hands and he hastily shifted through the papers, trying to get a fast overview of the situation to avoid keeping the occupants of the interrogation room waiting. His impatience immediately faded as he took in the contents of the pages in disbelief.

"Is this...?" he questioned calmly, his eyes steely; this definitely put Ashland Vodall in a precarious situation. The nod sent his way sent him rushing down the hall, leaving his trainee with a smug smile on her face. This new information now had him more eager than ever to start the impending interview.

A certain young woman had an awful lot of explaining to do.


	4. Incarcération

Well, that took just about a century and a half. Apologies everyone! But, there are some good news! I have gotten into the habit of writing every day, and I have already finished a third of the next chapter, so expect a rather quick update next time. I'll be upping the pace for my updates, so you can look forward to more frequent updates.

Enjoy!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

The door slammed open as Jack Crawford blew into the observation room with the striking likeness of a tornado, hurling the room into shock and confusion at his sudden appearance. The room was occupied by only three people; Will Graham, Alana Bloom and another more or less anonymous-looking investigator called John Petersen that Jack had put up to overseeing the interrogation of Ashland Vodall, in case Will proved to be less than useful.

But the effect of Jack's entrance on the small group was significant. Alana whirled around in shock with wide eyes and lifted eyebrows; Will looked away from the one-way-mirror to observe the debacle that was Jack Crawford, and the poor John Petersen gave his styrofoam mug a little too rough of a clench, staining his crème button-down with murky brown coffee.

Ignoring the muttered swears coming from Petersen who scrambled out of the room in search of a functioning sink, Jack took two booming steps into the room and locked his red-hot gaze on Will. "Can you tell me what this is?" he boomed, throwing down a pale folder onto the table in front of Will, where he was previously waiting impatiently, his mind rather on the girl on the other side of the mirror than on the seething Jack Crawford.

Knowing Jack's patience with him today was likely that of an on-duty fireman out of water, he promptly picked up the folder before thumbing through it. For every page he progressed, his brows scrunched further together and his jaw tightened to a teeth-aching position. At the end of the last page he looked up and was caught in the burning gaze of his superior officer.

"Did you know about this?" Jack questioned carefully, balancing his palms flat on the table while bending over the it and—by extension—Will, in what would likely by anyone else be considered an intimidating position.

Alana—having successfully rearranged her facial expression into confusion rather than shock at the scene displayed before her—marched purposefully towards the table, snatching the folder out of Will's hands and started reading as Jack's interrogation began, as a strange twist of events, on the wrong side of the one-way mirror.

"I've heard the name Elizabeth mentioned a total of three times, but I had yet to see the face connected to the name," Will spoke, mentally paperclip-ing the image of the long dirty blonde mane of hair and brown eyes he had seen in the file to the name Elizabeth Jane Barret.

"Until now, I assume," Jack countered quickly, his eagerness to connect Ashland further to the murder abundantly hinting towards something Will was yet unwilling to believe.

"Jack, I've never had any reason to believe Ashland is anything but innocent in this case," he argued, sending a short look towards the still reading Alana, who he hoped he would be able to consider an ally on this matter. As she was still immersed in the file, Jack swiftly found footing for his next argument.

"Well, as you can see, _we_ have reason to believe, that Ashland Vodall isn't entirely as innocent as you make her out to be, Will."

Will raised an eyebrow at Jack.

"A missing person's report on her childhood friend can hardly be considered evidence," he pointed out, successfully deflating Jack's anger a little bit. Jack lifted his hands from the table and sat down in the seat opposite of Will, taking in a deep breath before lowering his shoulders. After gathering up every single speck of patience he could within himself, he spoke.

"Okay, let's entertain the thought that she's innocent then. What have you got?"

At that, it seemed Alana had finally finished the unsettling read and decided to butt in.

"A common denominator here seems to be Ashland Vodall, but what if our focus has been on the wrong person from the beginning. What if this isn't about her?"

Jack sent her a skeptical look that urged her to elaborate.

"Look, if this was about Ashland Vodall, it could have happened long before it did, given the fact that she moved here months ago. As far as I could gather from Will, he's the only one along with Doctor Lecter that she's been around for a while. What if it's about Will? His name is publicly known, especially within the criminology field," she argued, turning towards Will. "A lot of people follow your every move; It wouldn't be hard to track down your information and who you surround yourself with, including Miss Vodall. It could be a warning."

Standing up again to be head to head with Alana, Jack spoke: "If that's what's happening, wouldn't Vodall be the obvious target?"

The question had Alana silent for a couple of seconds, as her mind ran through the possibilities.

"Yes," she tentatively spoke, gaining confidence with every word; it all made sense. "And that's why it was a warning. This person could have killed Ashland—the burnt down apartment building and planted ID cards stand as a proof of that—but he or she didn't."

Jack was silent, not entirely liking where this was going. If the perpetrator wasn't the young woman in the interrogation room, he had a whole lot of trouble coming up which had the potential to rack up a substantial body count. He brought his hands up to rub soothing circles on his temples.

"Okay, so since we're assuming Barret is the victim, how would they even track down a random Montana citizen like her?"

Knowing she was playing the devil's advocate, she sent a small apologetic look towards Will before speaking.

"The only link to Elizabeth Barret is Ashland Vodall."

Jack sighed in annoyance. This conversation was going in circles.

"Which, yet again, leads us back to your girlfriend, Will."

Alana walked to the table putting down the folder before she took the chair Jack had recently abandoned. She flipped through the papers again, looking for something to either support the theory or invalidate it. Suddenly she looked up, as a proverbial light bulb appeared over her head.

"What about her phone? Will, didn't you say she lost it?" she asked, setting her gaze on Will. There was a knock on the door. Assuming it was Petersen coming back from cleaning his shirt, they all ignored it.

"I'm assuming she did, considering the fact that she never answered it and called from a different phone number," he answered, looking towards Jack before he continued. "But this is ridiculous Jack, there are too many variables to assume that because Elizabeth Barret is missing, she's the victim. Even if she is, there is no proof Ashland had anything to do with it," he argued, pushing his feet against the floor to rise from the chair. It was silent in the room as he walked to the one-way-mirror. His eyes took in the bored and frustrated Ashland Vodall who had now been waiting in the empty room for something close to half an hour.

There was a knock on the door, yet again, and Jack turned around with an exasperated eye-roll and loudly yelled: "WHAT?"

The door promptly opened and revealed, not Petersen—as they all had expected—but Valerie Cooke who, from the looks of it, had been doing some further digging after having been dismissed by Jack. Alana, Jack and Will looked at her expectantly.

"We pulled up Vodall's records and found that her recent activities show she has been calling…" Valerie started, hesitating as she checked the name on the piece of paper in the folder in her hand. "…Elizabeth Barret from her phone the past week," she finished, looking up and meeting Jack's eyes that were widened from the welcome news.

He turned around, facing Will and Alana with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, it looks like this might be about Miss Vodall after all," were his last words before he pushed past Valerie, snatching the folder out of her hand before walking down the hall. He needed to talk to Ashland Vodall.

* * *

Ashland was resting her head on her hands in frustration. They wouldn't tell her anything. They wouldn't tell her why she, of all people, was targeted, they wouldn't tell her who the victim was and most importantly they wouldn't tell her why the hell she was in an interrogation room. She sighed, pushing herself off the table to lean back in the hard, steel chair, angling her head to study the ceiling in boredom. She almost fell over when the door to the room slammed open, and a somber faced man—who she assumed to be Jack Crawford—stepped into the room. Knowing a figure of authority when she saw one, she decided it was time to put good use to her manners.

"Hello, Ashland Vodall," Ashland greeted, standing up from her chair to shake hands with the detective. He looked mildly startled for a second at her manners towards him, even after he had her locked up in an interrogation room, but he took her hand and shook it in greeting. Something about the polite smile on Ashland's face told Jack that she wasn't entirely aware of the severity of the situation.

"Jack Crawford," he reciprocated with a nod, letting go of her hand. "Let's sit," he spoke, gesturing towards the meager seating arrangements. She nodded and went back to the seat she had been occupying for the past half hour before he arrived. Settling down, and laying the folder neatly on the table in front of him, Jack decided to get right down to business.

"What can you tell me about Elizabeth Barret?" he asked, leaning back in his chair while keenly studying her facial expressions. Ashland stole a look at the folder before replying.

"Bess? She's my best friend. We went to school together," Ashland stated, her brows furrowed, but her posture mirroring Jack's seemingly relaxed one. So she _did_ know her, Jack thought. _Interesting._

"Have you talked to her lately?" he questioned, leaning forwards in anticipation of her answer. He was very interested in knowing whether she would lie or not.

Her answer somehow didn't surprise him: "No, we haven't been in touch since I called her before leaving for Montana."

Her nose scrunched up as she thought about her friend, who she had been unable to contact for quite a while now. After having gotten off the flight and being reunited with Will she had completely forgotten to attempt to contact Bess. She would have to try again after she was released, she thought.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"The phone records came back saying that isn't entirely true," he replied, opening the folder before withdrawing a single piece of paper that he pushed across the table for her. Leaning forward, she grasped the paper.

"I tried calling her, but she didn't answer."

The list was separated into two, with the top columns displaying her outgoing calls and the lower columns displaying her incoming calls. Her eyes diligently scanned the information, until she reached the latest incoming calls. She skipped right over the vast amount of incoming calls she had been receiving from her parents over the past twenty four hours, as she knew they were probably worried about her lack of answer, and added them to the list of people she needed to contact when she was released from the FBI's firm grip. At the next phone number, she paused. It was one she easily recognized from having dialed it numerous times the previous day on her borrowed phone.

"Bess."

Her relieved whisper caught Jack's attention, and he looked expectantly at her.

"Sorry," she said, looking away from the paper for a moment to lock eyes with Jack, to correct her previous statement about not having heard from her. She technically had, she just didn't know it at the time. "It looks like she must have called me back yesterday just before I got on the plane," she continued. "With all this commotion, I haven't had the chance to check my messages," Ashland finished, feeling slightly relieved she was finally getting an answer to her calls.

Jack mentally calculated the hours between Elizabeth Barret's supposed disappearance and the phone call Ashland had received. If it was truly from Barret, it would leave them with nothing to go on concerning who the real victim was, and if it wasn't… Well, then they might have to start looking into locating Elizabeth Barret's cellphone. Jack mentally berated himself. Locating the cellphone. They should have tried that a long time ago.

Impatient to know what the message contained, Jack leaned forward in his chair, catching Ashland's eyes.

"Then perhaps now would be the time," he started before promptly turning towards the two-way mirror.

"Bring in her phone," he boomed, making Ashland jump slightly at the volume that bounced around the steely walls.

It took the occupants of the room behind the mirror no more than a minute to react, and the door opened up to the complete silence of the room. The door moved to reveal an anonymous-looking man with murky brown eyes and a receding hairline. His crème-colored shirt was stained and had see-through patches of white where he had managed to remove the stains, but his overall appearance, considering the fact that he was working for the FBI, seemed greatly lacking.

"Thank you, Petersen" Jack spoke to the man, after he had delivered a ziplock bag containing Ashland's phone. Petersen quickly nodded before exiting and pulling the door closed behind him.

He opened the bag and took out her phone before sliding it over the table to her. She took it and pressed the button on top. Both Ashland and Jack were silent, waiting for it to power up. Not seconds after it opened to reveal a light background screen with apps scattered on it, a message ticked in. 'Hello. You have 4 new voice messages,' it read. She hastily pressed the number on the screen to dial, and put it on speakerphone, so Jack could listen in.

The automated voice stated date and time that correlated with the time she had to catch her flight. The message started.

* * *

Jack hurriedly left the interrogation room, leaving behind a stunned Ashland, who was trying to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. Even though the familiar voice begging and pleading on the message terrified her, she wished Jack would have left the phone in the room, so she could listen to it again, so she would have some semblance of proof that this was actually happening.

Ashland didn't hear the door opening again. She felt like she was under water; everything was muffled and she questioned her ability to breathe as her sobs overwhelmed her. It wasn't definite proof, but hearing the agonizing screams of her best friend as she was being mutilated was as close to proof as she would get right now, considering the fact that the FBI couldn't even have had circumstantial evidence enough to lead them to anyone, if they pulled _her_ in for questioning. The murderer must have been thorough.

She thought back to the sound of a saw pulling through flesh and bone. It chilled her to her very soul, and to imagine it had happened to Elizabeth sent another wave of distress through her. She almost lashed out when she felt an arm drape over her shoulders and a hand rubbing her arm, but she gave into the embrace she was pulled into and buried her nose in the shoulder of the warm body encasing her.

They sat quietly for fifteen minutes before she felt all cried out. The exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours hit her, and her eyelids felt heavy. Not ready to deal with the situation at hand, Ashland allowed herself to close her eyes and let go, letting herself be pulled into the comforting oblivion of sleep.

* * *

After having dropped off the cellphone in the lab for the science team to analyze, Jack returned to his office, where he found Alana and Will waiting.

"Where's Ashland?" Jack asked Will. Jack had seen Will storming down the hallway to the interrogation room just as he had been leaving to hand over the evidence to the lab. He dearly hoped he hadn't sent her home yet, given the severity of the evidence they had just received.

"In the employee lounge," Will replied. "She's… Sleeping," he spoke hesitantly. He wasn't entirely sure she hadn't passed out from the shock, but her soft snores as he had carried her off to the lounge suggested he had nothing to worry about. For now. When she woke up, was an entirely different matter.

"Good," Jack started. "We'll want to keep her here for further interrogation when she wakes up."

Jack settled himself behind his desk.

"Will, I need to know whether she has unpacked yet. We'll need to search her luggage to see if we can find her original phone," he stated, leaning back into the chair, mentally going over their options and how they should proceed given one of their own Special Agents were involved with their main suspect.

Will leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs.

"Are you implying what I think you are?" The question was asked in a neutral tone, but the look on Will's face was anything but neutral.

"We need to look into this." Jack raised his voice, silencing Will for the time being. Alana decided to butt in.

"I still think we should look at other options, Jack. Miss Vodall received the voice message while she was in the airport. And unless she had it pre-recorded on a cell phone, called herself and played it to record for the voice message, it's very much likely the perpetrator is still out there," Alana stated, her voice plainly portraying her skepticism.

"It is possible," Jack argued, focusing his sharp gaze on the woman on the other side of the table.

"But it's not plausible," Alana argued back, leaning back into her chair and crossing one leg over the other. Jack stopped to think for a second.

"She could have had an accomplice," he continued, to which Alana had no argument. If Ashland Vodall was the murderer of her best friend, it was likely she had an accomplice, as she was certain their future trip to the airport would reveal security camera tapes with Ashland Vodall on them, securing her an impenetrable alibi. Alana's silence spoke volumes to Jack, and he smugly continued.

"I'll get a search warrant for her luggage. If we act quickly we might be able to get to her suitcases before she goes back to your place, Will. If there's anything suspicious in there, we'll know for sure."

Jack pulled out his cell phone from his inner pocket, quickly dialing the number for the nearest judge. Will tuned Jack out as he explained the circumstances and their need for swift action. As Jack ended the call and placed the phone back into his pocket, he got up from his chair to call for Valerie Cooke who was pacing outside the office in the hopes of being deemed competent enough to be put to further use in the case. She promptly entered the office and closed the door behind her, waiting for Jack's orders.

"Cooke, we need to check if Ashland Vodall has anymore phones in her name, and then I need a trace on her and Elizabeth Barret's phones. If we find those phones, we find our perpetrator," Jack spoke, his voice steady and demanding, just as it always was when giving out orders.

"Yes sir," she said, standing straighter than a US Marine in a parade. Will almost expected her to salute her boss, but she simply turned around and walked out of the office, swiftly getting started on her new assignment.

The room was silent after the door closed behind Valerie.

"You know you won't find whatever it is you're looking for in her suitcase," Will spoke, standing up to be face to face with the man he was arguing with. He had kept quiet for most of the conversation, but this was something he couldn't just keep to himself anymore.

Jack turned to face him, looking sour at the accusation that his efforts were motivated by anything other than a noble need for justice.

"What I'm hoping to find is evidence."

Will almost snorted in amusement. Jack Crawford often had an ulterior motive, and this definitely was one of those times.

"What you're hoping to find is probable cause, and if you're so hell-bent on finding it, why don't you just ask whatever it is you're skirting around," Will retorted, settling back down into his chair and signaling for Jack to do the same so this conversation could be had on common ground and neutral terms.

Jack paused, startled by Will's boldness before he reluctantly placed himself behind his desk and yet again leaned back into his chair. As he folded his hands before him, he looked every part the evil mastermind he himself was out to catch. He observed Will for a couple of seconds before he spoke.

"You and Miss Vodall have been having... Relations."

Alana shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside Will.

"I suppose you could call it that," Will acquiesced, his reluctance in speaking about this particular topic obvious.

"Why did she leave then?" Jack asked. Will averted his eyes and looked distinctively uncomfortable with the question, showing Jack he was on the right track.

"I couldn't say, really," he replied, casting a short glance Jack's way, before yet again looking away.

"You couldn't say," Jack stated dryly, pausing as he scrutinized the man on the other side of the table. "So you're saying, you have no idea why Ashland left for Montana despite being intimately involved with her?"

The question hung heavily in the air, disbelief etched into every single word. Will took a shaky breath, and swallowed loudly.

"She needed time to think; she was confused," he concluded. While he didn't know the complete reason behind her departure, it was fairly easy to deduce that at least some of it had been due to the emotional turmoil of their sudden…Rendezvous.

"I think we all are," Jack replied with a sigh. He lifted a hand to rub his temple, hoping to release some of the tension causing the rising discomfort of a headache.

"Jack, she didn't fake her own death just to get away from me, if that's what you're assuming happened," Will stated, annoyance clear in his voice. The very idea seemed preposterous to him. Jack raised a brow at Will's hostility.

"I'm not assuming anything, but you said it yourself; she wanted to get away from you," Jack started, dropping his hand. "What. Happened?"

Will rearranged his position in his seat with a cough.

"I don't see why my personal life is relevant to this case," Will backtracked, entirely uncomfortable with the situation. Ashland hadn't killed anyone, and even if she had, doing it to get away from him seemed completely unlikely and over the top. She'd have to be a complete psychopath in order to do that. _'__But then again,__'_ Will thought dryly. _'__You__'__d have to be a bit of a__…__challenged individual to kill someone.__'_

Jack was growing frustrated with the man sitting opposite of him. He looked quickly towards Alana, who met his gaze head on, but made no move to talk. He would receive no more help from her on this matter, not until he had more evidence to present.

"It is, if your girlfriend killed someone in order to fake her own death to get away from you."

Jack's voice was gaining in volume, parallel to his rising annoyance.

"But this is her friend we're talking about," Will spoke, the volume of his voice rising to match Jack's. "There's no possible motive," he finished.

Jack's eyes narrowed. He _did_ see a motive.

"You're saying there's no motive, but I don't see it like that," Jack stated, loud and clear. Will's mouth scrunched together in frustration. Jack was talking in circles, and while it was true Will hadn't split with Ashland on great terms, it wasn't incentive enough for Ashland to kill someone; at least he would like to think he hadn't driven a woman to homicide just to get away from him.

"Ashland obviously felt the need to get away from whatever trouble was brewing in paradise between you two; how is that not motive?" Jack questioned, standing up and bringing both his hands down heavily on the desk, leaning over it to look down on Will.

Will fought the urge to bang his head into the desk. His next words came fast and frantically, his frustration catching up with him.

"No, that's not… It. Say Ashland did it. She would still need some sort of motivation to kill someone she knows. Convenience would be too… vague a reason, and would be too easily traceable."

Jack lifted his hands from the desk, pushed his chair back and started pacing. A contemplative look was on his face.

"Do we have an alibi?"

The room was completely silent save for the sound of Jack's polished shoes shuffling against the carpet.

"That's what I need you to find out," Will stated quietly. Jack stopped his pacing and turned towards where Alana and Will sat silently.

"Why are you so keen on protecting this girl?"

"In my book, and in a court of law, if you recall, Jack… People are innocent until proven guilty," Will reminded Jack, standing from his chair to be on equal ground. Alana observed the proceedings passively, but it was clear from the twitch of a smile on her lips that she approved of the way things were going.

Jack sighed.

"Fine. I'll look into it. We'll check with the airport, credit card company, and gas stations she might have stopped at on her way to Montana. Once we get a decent timeline, we might be able to clear her, but that doesn't mean she's not our prime suspect until we do," Jack conceded, before ominously adding: "If we do."

With a nod of agreement, Will stood from his chair and excused himself from the room. It wouldn't be long before Ashland woke up, and he wanted to be there when she did.

* * *

When Ashland woke, she was greeted with the pungent smell of coffee in the air. She blinked to rid herself of the sleep caught in her eyes, and yawned as she pushed herself into a sitting position on the couch. She was in some sort of lounge or break room.

It took her a couple of seconds to regain control of her brain after her trauma-induced nap that had her mind muddled. It didn't take her long to remember why she was there in the break room, and when she did, she immediately raised herself from the couch and hurried towards the open door that lead to the empty hallway. While she knew it was probably ridiculous to stick some agent in the room to babysit her while she slept, Ashland found herself being fairly annoyed when she found an empty hallway and no one to help her locate someone familiar.

Leaning on the doorframe she nibbled on her lower lip while thinking through her options. Since they had left her there on her own, they had obviously been expecting for her to continue sleeping, until whoever was to look after her—for she was certain they had someone eager to look after her, considering they seemed to deem her a suspect—decided to show up. She could either leave the office and go looking for a phone to locate Will or she could stay and wait for someone to come and get her.

With another look down the hallway, she decided. Since the odds of them showing up within the next fifteen minutes seemed slim based on the sheer emptiness of her surroundings, she would find her own way. After going back to the couch to tug on her shoes—Will had been considerate enough to remove them—she left the room to go on a search for someone who could lend her a phone.

* * *

Jack walked into the lab, adamant on finding some sort of evidence that would either prove Ashland Vodall to be deserving of their suspicion, or dismiss her entirely as a suspect. He hoped Beverly Katz could be of assistance in this matter.

Walking up to the table, where the slab of charred meat had been lying on for a couple of days now for further tests, he found Beverly Katz. She was on the other side of the table, picking off small black flakes of skin for testing.

"Hi Jack," she greeted, briefly looking up from her pair of tweezers. "I'm looking to see if there is any trace evidence that wasn't completely obliterated by the fire. It's a long shot but long shots have been known to hit the target every now and then," she continued, pulling one last flake from the body before putting it into a test tube and sealing it. Jack looked on with great interest.

"Have you found anything?"

She pealed off her gloves to label the tube and turned around to place it in a rack before turning towards Jack with news that would hopefully aid him in his search.

"From this? Not yet, but I _have_ found something else," she answered, pulling out a new pair of disposable latex gloves and pulling them on before turning to the table where the victim's body was placed.

"Do tell," he answered eagerly, walking around the stainless steel table to find himself a pair of disposable gloves in order to avoid contaminating the remains in his search for answers.

Seeing he was ready for her to proceed, Beverly put a hand under the charred shoulder lifting it slightly from the table to get a better view.

"The sounds from the voice message you brought me earlier suggests the use of some sort of serrated knife or saw. Though the body was scorched beyond recognition, we were able to find markings from the blades that were used along the bone of the scapula, and more specifically the acromion," she explained, pointing a gloved finger towards some almost unnoticeable indentations along the bone of one of the shoulder blades.

"Blades?" Jack questioned, with scrunched brows, leaning toward to get a better look at the small marks.

"Surprisingly, it seems there were used two different techniques to remove the limbs. First, it was cut open with a knife with a cleaner sort of blade that didn't leave the same type of indentations as a serrated knife would. _Then_ the meat of the arms were separated from the bones with a serrated blade," she spoke, taking a couple of steps to the side to make room for Jack.

"What type of knives are we looking at then?"

Beverly's answer was prompt, suggesting she had already given it plenty of thought, since Jack had last delivered the voice message in the lab a mere hour ago.

"Given the precision of the cuts and the clean amputation I would have to say a butcher knife and a boning knife," she answered, letting Jack take over the shoulder while taking a step back to lean against the empty steel-table behind her. Jack raised a skeptical brow and stepped forward to trace the indentations with his own finger. He straightened up and looked over his shoulder to address her.

"So we're looking for a butcher now?"

Beverly lifted a hand and tipped it from side to side in a so-so gesture.

"Not necessarily. It could just be someone with the access to that type of tools, and given the commercialism these days, professional butcher's knives are pretty much on sale anywhere. Our perpetrator could have walked right into Target and found himself a nice set for $99.95," she spoke, peeling off the gloves and throwing them into a nearby trashcan as she walked towards the test tubes with the flakes she had previously collected; she had no more to show Jack Crawford for now.

Sensing there was no more information to draw from the scientist, he too withdrew from the body and followed her lead, deciding on trying to get some final information out of her.

"What about the execution?" he asked, mimicking Beverly and throwing the latex gloves out before following her towards the desk, where she was categorizing the tubes. She looked up from her work, pausing for a second.

"Of the amputation?"

"Yes."

"As I said," she spoke clearly, before looking down and continuing her task of sorting out the tubes in the rack. "Very clean. Very professional. It's not the first time our perpetrator has removed limbs," she continued, giving him a final look, that Jack recognized as her unspoken way of saying: 'Get out of here, I have work to do.'

"I'll take that into consideration," Jack replied, bowing his head in thanks before he turned and hastily walked towards the open doorway leading to the hallway. He stopped just before turning the corner as he heard Beverly's voice echo through the lab.

"You should. This isn't the work of an amateur."

Jack nodded, and left the lab.


	5. Réconciliation

There we go! This chapter might just be my favorite, but then again, I'm the one who wrote it, so instead of taking my word for it, you'll just have to see for yourselves ;)

Also, a great big thank you to SilentTelepath for being an amazing reader and reviewer! I always look forward to what you have to say.

I am also very grateful for my beta being an absolute darling and helping out even when it's 'that time of year' (*cough*exams*cough*), so thank you for that, hun!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

Ashland could—after what felt like hours—conclude that the FBI did not do landline phones. While she was normally not a very apprehensive individual, she found herself unable to interrupt the rather substantial amount of people already on their phones. Especially the purpose of her interruption was what halted her in her progress, as the notion of asking for a phone someone was already talking into was a tad too rude for her liking. She was time and time again unsuccessful, as the disgruntled glares sent her way when she waited in people's near vicinity for them to finish talking were enough to send her running for the hills. It was just her luck that every single person in the FBI Headquarters she came across was either talking on their fancy phones or were in such an immense rush that she was completely unable to match up to their long and hurried strides.

It didn't take long for her to give up.

Shuffling back to the still empty employee's lounge, she donned her jacket—why she had left it there in her post-nap haze was a complete mystery to her refreshed mind—and stepped back into the hallway.

'It shouldn't be too hard to find the exit,' she thought, wondering why nobody had come to check up on her yet, and spared Will a small thought before she shoved him out of her mind; now wasn't the time to think about Will Graham. Especially as her guilt escalated the closer to the exit she got, did she try to rid her mind of his image; she knew she probably shouldn't be leaving, and would potentially get both herself and him into trouble by doing it, but she couldn't stay there for another minute.

Stepping out into the crisp midday air was as refreshing as a cool glass of lemonade on a hot day, and as she drew in a deep—and immensely satisfying—breath, her mind cleared, and all of her previous worries were silenced, at least for a little while. That little while didn't last for very long, she soon came to realize, as she stepped out of the shadow of the stony brick of a building and onto the pavement where she was soon joined by a petite woman with a wild head of red hair.

With a small sideways glance Ashland swiftly concluded that the woman now walking alongside her was completely unfamiliar to her. She inwardly sighed. Well, if she was being stalked by a weirdo, at least she was close to FBI Headquarters. Just as she was considering the possibility of turning on her heels and marching straight back into the lion's den, the woman sped up and got three steps ahead of her before she turned and stepped right into Ashland's path, effectively blocking it.

'Wonderful. Definitely a weirdo,' she thought, preparing herself to turn around and run. With a downward glance she idly wondered whether speed-walking would suffice, as the woman's heels would be unlikely to allow for such a pace, but before she was able to make good on her plans to flee, the woman stuck out a small glove-clad hand.

"Freddie Lounds," she greeted. The name struck something within Ashland, and while she wasn't immediately able to place the name—she had a feeling Will had mentioned her a couple of times—the instinctual feeling in her gut told her that this Freddie Lounds in front of her was nothing but bad news. Not wanting to appear rude, Ashland decided to go with the flow and hopefully form her own opinions that weren't based on something as vague as a gut feeling. Reluctantly, she stuck out her hand and greeted Freddie Lounds.

"Ashland Vodall."

A cheeky smirk appeared on the woman's face, and the gracious and friendly appearance immediately turned scheming and mischievous. Ashland had a feeling she should have listened to her gut and run while she could.

"I know. I heard you died," Freddie spoke bluntly, not even bothering to lace on a hint of sympathy as most had done when approaching Ashland about the very sore topic of her fake-death.

"You heard wrong," Ashland stated with a smile as fake as the woman's attitude, and stepped sideways to walk right past her.

"No," Freddie countered, taking a step to the same side as Ashland to prevent her from leaving. "I didn't."

Ashland's brows furrowed at the persistence she was displaying. It was very unsettling. This Freddie-woman was a complete stranger, and had no business questioning Ashland like this was some sort of customer service interview.

A proverbial light bulb lit up over Ashland's head.

The word 'interview' had somehow clicked in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place.

Freddie Lounds was a tabloid-journalist, and the very one Will so often talked about wanting to strangle. Now, while Ashland didn't exactly condone violence, this was a notion she was starting to warm up to; she had known the woman for all of two minutes and already Freddie Lounds had displayed overwhelming arrogance and a condesending attitude. Ashland—self-professed queen of first impressions—had no doubts that this infuriating woman was deliberately riling her up. Question was: why?

Now knowing what she was up against, Ashland folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, ready to sass out her competition. If Freddie was hoping to gain an adversary, an adversary she would give her.

"Is it customary practice for tabloid journalists to pounce on unsuspecting innocents?" she asked, waiting a second before faking a look of realization at her own question. "Wait, don't answer that," she continued mockingly before taking a step closer to Freddie, patting her condescendingly on the arm—two could play that game—and rudely pushing past her.

The clicking footsteps a few steps behind her told Ashland that this lady wasn't easily fazed. Well, she would _probably_ be a bad journalist if she was.

"I won't," she replied dryly as she upped her pace and was—yet again—walking side by side with Ashland within a few steps. This woman was impressive in a set of heels. "What is going on between you and Will Graham?" she questioned eagerly, holding out a recording device.

Ashland bristled at the meager distance between the device and her mouth, and promptly pushed the hand away. Their collective first impression towards each other was all but ruined; she didn't see how she could make it any worse.

"Me and Will Graham?" Ashland stated with great incredulity. "I didn't know you ran a dating-column on that little website of yours," she joked with a scoff.

"I'm always on the hunt for new journalistic input," came the ever-sarcastic reply that prompted Ashland to roll her eyes and quicken her pace. Unfortunately, like everything else, it did nothing to deter Freddie Lounds.

"Journalism, right. So that's what you call whatever it is you're doing," Ashland mumbled, looking down the street to see if there were any cabs available; she had arrived at the FBI Headquarters in Will's car.

The next sentence came like a bolt from the blue.

"Stay away from Will Graham, if you value your life."

Ashland stopped in her tracks.

"Uhh," Ashland fumbled in surprise—Freddie's warning was the last thing she had been expecting to hear—before turning around to see that the journalist was, too, standing still, and was looking at her with a gaze that seemed all too solemn for Ashland's liking.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Is that a threat, Miss Lounds?" she questioned warily, not liking where this conversation was going.

"Consider it a friendly warning," Freddie chimed, plastering on a strained smile over the serious grimace.

"It sounded suspiciously like a threat to me," Ashland stated matter-of-factly, with her arms crossed and her jaw tightened. She wasn't going to bow down to this…this…wretched woman!

"Oh, I don't get my hands dirty like that, but I do write about those who do. I know men like Will Graham, and from what I know about that brand of men—of psychos—I know you'll be dead one day, and Will Graham will be the only one who knows where you're buried."

"Really. Psychos, you say? How does that saying go—takes one to know one?" Ashland questioned warily.

Promptly ignoring the jab, Freddie continued on.

"Get out while you can." The words were harsh and to the point, suddenly leaving Ashland with no doubts about Freddie's sincerity, though Will had told her she possessed none. Remembering who she was talking to, she pushed the slowly budding worry to the back of her mind, and maintained her skeptical countenance.

"And I'm supposed to heed your advice?" she questioned, one eyebrow raised.

"If you value your life; then yes," came the casual reply; one that pushed Ashland's skepticism through the roof. How could a woman be talking so casually about murder, if she wasn't being insincere? No one could be that callous, tabloid journalist or not.

No matter what her mounting worries were telling her, Ashland absolutely refused to believe a word Freddie Lounds was saying. Anger bled through Ashland's mistrustful demeanor, and she stepped closer to the '_journalist__'_ in front of her.

"Oh, I value my life alright; enough to recognize the fact, that the last time I left, my best friend fell victim to whoever is out there killing people. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to leave again?"

She was close enough to see the words harden Freddie's posture. Freddie's eyes—though still shining with mischief—darkened at Ashland's challenge, and for a second Ashland feared the petite woman would pounce, only for the intensive sensation to blow over, like the wind settling after a storm. Ashland shook it off.

"Well, I certainly didn't think you'd be stupid enough to stay," she answered, her tone sharpened yet callous. She remained calm and poised, waiting for Ashland to blow, and while she was dangerously close, she managed to rein herself in.

Ashland took a deep breath and spoke through gritted teeth.

"Oh yeah? Wait and see, we'll soon know who's the stupid one here."

As Freddie sent her a predatory smile, Ashland loosened her crossed arms and tightened her clenched fists. 'Don't do something stupid,' she reminded herself while clenching and unclenching her hands as her arms feel to her sides.

"Indeed we will, Miss Vodall. I can hardly wait, but then again…I have a feeling you won't be around to hear me tell you 'I told you so'," she teased, but turned around to leave, seemingly keen on having the last word in this matter.

"Save your words, or you'll be eating them later," Ashland called after Freddie. She stopped a few feet down the pavement and glanced at Ashland through her thick, bouncy curls.

"So eager to get the last word," she started. "We'll see who'll have the last laugh then," she spoke before facing forwards yet again. She didn't turn around as she called a solemn "Take care," out to Ashland, and stalked swiftly away, hailing the only cab in what seemed to be within a mile's radius of the FBI Headquarters.

The second Freddie was out of sight, Ashland dropped the facade and allowed the concern to peek through. No matter how hard she tried to resist the poisonous words of Freddie Lounds, a seed had been planted; one Ashland was afraid might take root.

* * *

As Will walked into the employee's lounge in search for Ashland, he found it empty. He swiftly concluded that her shoes and jacket were gone, and decided with a sigh to check the nearest restrooms for the missing woman. He would prefer to avoid telling Jack he couldn't find her in the employee's lounge until he was absolutely certain whether Ashland was missing or not. Having to endure the complete mayhem that would ensue if Jack were to find the lounge empty of their main suspect was an unpleasant experience he would rather be without. In retrospect they probably should have assigned someone to watch her, but having been a bit distracted at the time by Ashland's misery and Jack's whisking away to file evidence, there had been no time for such considerations.

Reluctant to enter the women's bathroom, he knocked on the door before peeking his head in. None of the three stalls were occupied. With no hesitation he took out his phone and started speed-walking back to the employee's lounge where he would call Jack if Ashland had not returned; her being gone could mean a lot of different things, none of which meant anything remotely pleasant for Ashland.

The empty lounge that greeted him was accompanied by a stitch of worry, and he immediately pressed the dial button on his phone; Jack needed to know.

They needed to find her, and they needed to find her now.

* * *

When she was finally able to hail a cab, the ride back to Will's place took much too long for her taste. She spent the entire trip looking out the window, observing the cool water from the melting icicles dripping down from the barren tree branches that hovered over the road. She knew they were close when the city of Washington evened out into suburbs and eventually the small houses were replaced with the towering pines and cedars that dominated the area.

The relief that spread through her when they pulled up to Will's house was quickly replaced with the realization that Will had the key to his house, and she slumped against the seat contemplating what to do. All of her money was in the house—she didn't want to risk having it confiscated by Jack Crawford—so she wouldn't be able to pay the driver if she couldn't find her way in. Ashland sighed. She should have asked Will for a spare key.

She perked up at the thought. A spare key! That's it! Will must have a spare key hidden somewhere.

As the car pulled to a gentle stop in front of the house, she quickly surveyed the porch for anywhere a small key could be hidden, before she leaned forward to tap on the glass to the driver.

"I'll just go and get the money from inside, okay? I'll be out in a minute."

The driver nodded grumpily and opened the glove compartment to pull out a newspaper as she opened the door and exited the car. Her first attempt to locate the key was to look under the doormat. Ashland was almost relieved she didn't find the key there, as she would have to seriously question Will's self-preservation skills if he found it adequate to hide a spare key in the most obvious place on the planet. But Will was not a special agent for nothing, and had hidden his key elsewhere, so she continued her search.

After a minute of unsuccessful investigating she stopped for a second to think, and looked upwards to see, if she could spot anything sticking out from on top of the door- and window-frames. With a small successful "A-ha!" she stood on the tip of her toes to retrieve the key from on top of the doorframe. Not that this hiding place was any better, she thought, but pushed it from her mind as the cab-driver honked the horn impatiently.

With a small wave to the man behind the wheel, she unlocked the door and hurried to the kitchen where she had put her purse before leaving for Washington with Will. A few minutes after she stepped into the house, she was back outside to pay and send the driver on his way.

* * *

The FBI-agents rushed into their cars, and Will followed Jack into his. While Will knew a missing Ashland Vodall was not a good sign, Jack had—as predicted—immediately reacted with the severity of a seasoned army general and called for backup before whisking away with Will trailing behind him.

As he settled into the car, Will observed the whole cavalry that was gathering outside of the FBI Headquarters.

"Isn't this a bit much, Jack?" he questioned skeptically as he watched Jack put the car into gear. Jack cast a short look at the man beside him, an eyebrow raised skeptically.

"A bit much for what? Our escaped main suspect, or the psycho who might have kidnapped her?" he asked rhetorically, pulling out of the parking lot with five cars following behind him.

"For all you know, she just went home. You didn't even arrest her; you're not allowed to keep her in custody unless you charge her with a crime," Will argued, exasperation clear in his tone of voice.

Jack was staring resolutely at the road in front of him.

"I'm sure I can come up with something," he stated, at which Will's anger grew.

"Jack," Will spoke, his voice laced with warning. "You can't just arrest an innocent woman."

Jack scoffed incredulously and looked away from the road to regard Will.

"Tell me, does fleeing from the police station make her look innocent to you?"

* * *

The wind was cold, and as she watched the taxi disappear down the driveway, she rubbed her arms, hoping the friction would help heat up her freezing body. As the car was completely out of sight she went back inside, chucking her jacket on the couch before walking to the kitchen to pick up the landline. Her fingers punched in the well-known number to her parents, and as she waited for her father to pick up, she leaned herself on the wall next to her.

The phone rang for three times before it was answered.

"Hello?" the man on the other side of the line greeted questioningly, obviously being unable to recognize the number calling his cellphone.

"Hi dad," Ashland replied quietly. The line went completely silent, before she could hear the sound of hushed whispers in the background and a hiss she suspected came from her mom before the phone was taken over by none other than the woman herself.

"Why didn't you call us when you got to Washington like you promised?" was the first thing she heard from her mum. The scolding was severe, as it always was coming from Linda Vodall—but the edge of worry attached to it had guilt welling up in Ashland.

"I'm sorry mom, I was so tired, and with everything that was happening…I just needed some time to myself."

Ashland leaned her head back against the wall as she talked, closing her eyes to enjoy the silence stretching out on the other side of the line. It suddenly struck her how peaceful it was in Wolftrap. Even with her mom chattering one of her ears off, it was still so tranquil and quiet out here. If she listened really carefully, she could hear the cars passing down the road a third of a mile away.

'Strange,' she thought, as the distant sound of sirens could be detected from somewhere far away. All the times she had visited Will, she had never heard any police cars or ambulances passing through Wolftrap. Ashland shrugged it off.

"You could have sent a message," Linda chided. Ashland opened her eyes, pulling the chord with her to stare out the kitchen window as the sirens got louder and louder. She rolled her eyes at her mother's lecturing.

"I thought you didn't know how to text," she teased absentmindedly, walking as far into the living room as she could with the chord to sneak a peak out the windows. She squinted her eyes, to see if she could see anything out through the drawn curtains.

A sigh was heard through the phone.

"Please, Ashland. I am middle aged, not an ancient relic," her mother replied. Ashland rolled her eyes and turned around, going back into the kitchen.

"Fine, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We're just glad you're alright."

Ashland paused. She knew that what she was about to say would hit her parents almost as hard as it hit her; Bess was like a second daughter to them.

"Me too," she started hesitantly before taking a deep breath. "Actually, I called because I need you to call Bess' parents. I think they need to come down here."

"How come, sweetie?" her mother asked, sounding worried.

"Well, you know the body they found? The one they thought was me."

Ashland leaned against the wall where the phone was hanging.

"Yes?"

"Turns out it might be Bess," Ashland whispered, but at the sudden exhale of disbelief on the other end of the line, she knew her mother had heard her.

"No," she breathed. Ashland could hear the sound of wood scraping against the tiles of the kitchen floor; Linda no doubt needed support, and was most likely dropping herself into one of the chairs from the dining table.

Ashland could feel the tears pushing against eyes. She felt something catch in her throat as she spoke; her voice produced something akin to a croak as the spoke.

"Yes."

Her mother was silent. She was contemplating something.

"Honey…Do you want us to come down there?" Linda asked hesitantly, and Ashland nodded silently, letting the tears spill down her reddened cheeks. As she remembered that her mum couldn't see her nodding, she swallowed the lump that had settled in her throat and regained enough composure to speak.

"Could you?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course," her mother's warm voice cooed, and Ashland could hear the muffled sounds of her mum calling over her father. "I'll call you when we get everything arranged," Linda spoke, after having removed her palm from the phone receiver.

Ashland drew a great sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

"We'll see you soon, sweetie."

Ashland nodded to herself, and sighed before putting down the phone into the receiver. Just as her hand let go of the phone, the door to the living room blasted open. Curious, she took a step into the living room only to be greeted with the barrel of a gun pointed right at her.

"Freeze!".

Her arms flew up past her head in shock, and her open palms submissively faced forward to signal her compliance as the man with the gun walked closer. His finger was entirely too close to the trigger for her liking, she noted and tried to swallow the lump that had settled in her throat. Her breath was stuck somewhere in her throat alongside the lump, and all she could hear was her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Time seemed to slow down, and for a second she was convinced she was about to be shot when the door was pushed completely open and a great crowd of officers poured through the door with their firearms fixed firmly on her.

One coherent thought sliced through the muddled mess of her mind: 'The police?' she thought, looking around with wide startled eyes. Everything had happened so suddenly, and she couldn't for the life of her comprehend why what seemed to be half of the entire Washington police force were in Will's living room.

Feet against wooden floor was the only sound that could be heard in the room, and Ashland was convinced that by now every single policeman occupying space within a ten feet radius must have been able to hear her heart beating. The beats came so hard and fast, she was sure the organ was seconds away from bursting out of her chest.

Despite the multitude of questions that were now running through her mind, she stayed silent in fear of what the policemen would do if she didn't.

The vision of Jack Crawford walking through the door brought her no relief, but the sight of Will Graham following him was something entirely different. His appearance gave her overworked heart a respite as it skipped for a second only to calm down and settle into a more even-tempered beat. She almost allowed her hands to drop, but as her hands lowered only an inch the policemen took half a step back and gripped their guns tighter, successfully scaring her into bringing her arms up another inch.

"At ease, agents," Jack commanded. The policemen—or agents, as Jack had so usefully supplied—exchanged glances before hesitantly lowering their guns, allowing for Ashland to lower her now throbbing arms. She regarded the FBI agents with wary eyes until her gaze landed on Jack. The questioning look she sent him was soon answered, as he reached into his tan overcoat, pulling out a piece of paper.

Her brows scrunched and she stepped forward to receive it, now able to move, as she wasn't being held at gunpoint. She almost didn't know what to do with herself as she was presented with a piece of paper, that clearly stated its purpose; a search warrant, and if she was reading it right, it seemed to be for her…luggage?

She paused, looking up at Jack Crawford who was monitoring her reaction to the warrant closely.

"Right, my luggage?" she questioned weakly, not really knowing what to say. The situation was entirely absurd; an army of agents, guns and now a search warrant for her luggage. Not that it mattered much what she said; they had the law on their side, and would rummage through her belongings no matter what she could possibly say in her own—and her suitcases'—defense.

She looked towards the bags that were still standing just right of the door where she left them the previous day. Those bags contained the last of her possessions, the rest having been turned to ash along with her apartment building; the thought of having to hand over the rest of her life to a bunch of trigger-eager suits was daunting at best.

"Yes, it's for the investigation," Jack stated, replying to the unasked question. He noted with satisfaction that she was looking mildly displeased. Perhaps they _would_ find something in her luggage, no matter how adamant Will was being, in trying to convince him that they wouldn't.

Ashland nodded lightly, gesturing towards the suitcases before heading to the wall furthest away from her baggage. Desperately needing some support, she leaned against the wall while watching them tear through her belongings.

Will soon joined her, noticing how her eyes followed the agents' harsh handling of her things. They rummaged through her bags with absolutely no regard for the objects within.

He snuck a look at her, and at the troubled look in her eyes, Will motioned to the kitchen; she looked like she needed a break. Ashland followed his gaze and nodded tiredly before following him into the adjacent room. He pulled out a glass from one of the cupboards as she leaned against the counter. As she rubbed her temples, she snuck a peek through the door at the FBI agents ransacking her luggage and watched with unease as they pulled out a watch she had inherited from her grandmother. The man sent it a disinterested look before slinging it haphazardly onto the floor. She winced as the glass crunched just as a man stepped through the door and accidentally crushed it beneath his foot.

She almost pushed against the counter to storm into the room and give them a piece of her mind, but was interrupted by an arm suddenly obstructing her view of the living room. The arm was connected to a hand that held a glass of water out for her. Her eyes followed the arm to its owner and found Will to be the one that had halted her impending crusade. Silently, he prompted her to take the glass and with a sigh, she did.

"Thanks," she mumbled, taking a grateful sip of the water, before gulping down the rest of it; she hadn't realized how thirsty she had been.

Will didn't answer. He only studied her as she went back to the sink to refill the glass. Only as she had emptied her second glass and placed it down on the counter, did he proceed.

Ashland almost didn't have time to react as Will pulled her to him and his arms folded around her. She didn't object as a gentle hand pushed her neck downwards, leaning her head against his collarbone. His other hand rested on her lower back, rubbing circles on her warm skin under her shirt.

With a sigh of contentment, she cuddled closer to Will, enjoying the way his warmth seeped through her, heating her up from head to toe. While she was looking forward to seeing her mum, and giving her a big hug, what Will was providing her with now was something even her family couldn't give her. She relished in his closeness, drawing in a deep breath to take in the scent that was completely and unassumingly Will. She didn't cry; she felt as if she had no more tears to shed, but that didn't stop her from allowing the sorrow to wash over her. Will's arms were like a protective cocoon around her, a place where murderers—and Jack Crawford for that matter—couldn't touch her.

It was right then and there—in Will's arms—she decided that no matter what Jack was preparing to throw at her, she would fight nail and tooth to stand against him to prove her innocence. Though they spoke no words, the look in Will's eyes as she tilted her head up to look at him, told her that he would do the same.

As she gazed into Will's kind eyes, affection swelled in her. She couldn't help herself but lean forward, standing on the tip of her toes to reach him. He hesitated, loosening his grip on her slightly to create a bit of distance between them, but the hurt in Ashland's eyes as he distanced himself was enough for him to stay put.

Knowing the ball was in his court now, he took a shuddering breath hoping to God she wasn't having any second thoughts, and leaned down to capture her lips with his.

While their last kiss had been in the throes of passion, this was slow and deliberate. Everything that had been left unsaid was poured from lips to lips; mouth to mouth as they explored each other anew, thoroughly enjoying their short respite from the chaos in the living room.

* * *

Jack paced as he oversaw the search of Ashland's belongings. So far they hadn't found anything incriminating, but they _had _gotten here a little bit too late. After all, Ashland Vodall was already in the house, and had been alone with her luggage for around ten minutes before they had the chance to search it, making his search warrant redundant. Unless Will allowed him to search the rest of the house—his chances of that happening were slim at best—he could do nothing but wait for the science team back at the lab to discover new evidence that would hopefully be damning enough for an arrest, be it of Ashland Vodall or of someone entirely different.

Jack still had half a mind to bring Ashland back to the FBI Headquarters—this time in a cell—but he knew the search warrant had been pushing it; an unwarranted arrest would most likely send him into deep trouble, which was something he didn't need after the recent call from Kade Prurnell he had received a couple of weeks ago, regarding his use of Will Graham as a special agent. No doubt his request for a search warrant would gift him with a call from the Office of the Inspector General.

'Any minute now,' he thought, closely watching the agents digging through the mess of clothes and shoes. But with every second, every minute his crew searched Ashland's luggage, the more obvious it was becoming that they would not find anything and the more his worry escalated. He had been so certain.

Jack was shaken out of his downward spiralling thoughts when his phone rang.

He took a short look on his caller ID and wasn't the least bit surprised.

"Jack Crawford," he greeted evenly. He knew which voice he would hear coming from the other end of the line.

"Jack, you need to get yourself down to Headquarters, pronto."

It was none other than Kade Prurnell.


	6. Sournois

I seem to have managed to beat some sort of record by not updating for 6 whole months. I have no idea where the time went, but everything suddenly got busy and both my beta and I have been unavailable, meaning this chapter is unedited. Any updates before christmas will be unedited, as my lovely beta is currently writing her bachelor thesis.

IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'm having trouble doing long updates, so I end up updating once every half year, which is not fair to you readers. If I were to do shorter chapters I might be able to update once every couple of weeks, as it's less work planning, writing and editing, but it's up to you guys, whether you prefer these longer chapters or you want more frequent updates. Please review with your opinion and enjoy the chapter!

Also, check out my tumblr, Amarantex, for upcoming sneak peeks!

* * *

"Jack," Kade greeted as Jack entered the office. She was seated in his chair with her legs crossed and her arms resting comfortably against the armrests in a position of authority he normally occupied.

Having resigned himself to the thought that he wasn't going to find anything in Ashland Vodall's luggage, he had gathered his crew straight after having received the call from Kade Prurnell, and had driven straight back to the FBI Headquarters. He had a feeling he would find her there in his office, but to find her in his chair was borderline offensive. She was pulling rank on him.

Oh, how he had been dreading this conversation.

"Kade," he greeted, intentionally allowing only her first name to slip off his tongue; the tightening of Kade Prurnell's jaw suggested her annoyance at his casual acknowledgement. Jack found great pleasure in that small tick.

She cleared her throat and straightened her back before continuing.

"I'm hoping you're able to enlighten me about the nature of some severe accusations I have been receiving about you, Jack," Kade spoke; her voice was as stern as ever and Jack had no doubts Kade was about to serve him his own balls on a silver platter.

"I assume this is about Will Graham."

"Of course it's about Will Graham," Kade sneered. "And the fact that I have just five minutes ago received notice of you obtaining what appears to be an insubstantially warranted search warrant that proved to be absolutely useless, but we'll get back to that in a minute."

She paused, and deflated a little bit in disbelief.

"Will Graham, Jack? Really?".

"Will Graham was psychologically evaluation by a very esteemed psychiatri-". Kade immediately cut in.

"I don't care if he was evaluated by the president himself. If you want to continue working with that man, or just working in general, you'll get a second opinion, stat."

Jack observed the way Kade had abandoned the armrests in favor of leaning forward on the table. Intimidation tactics rarely worked on him—especially not when he was towering over the female trying to intimidate him—but something in Kade Prurnell's eyes told Jack she wasn't messing around. With the threat of losing his job, Jack conceded.

"As you wish."

"Good. Now what is this I hear about Ashland Vodall?".

* * *

Ashland blinked awake to the sensation of dog dragging it's tongue up her cheek in enthusiastic licks. She looked apprehensively through eyes narrowed with sleep and groaned at the sight of Winston standing beside the bed. His tail was wagging in anticipation. Ashland absentmindedly wiped the saliva off her skin, and prepared to roll over and go back to sleep, but it was too late. Having noticed she was awake, Winston prodded her side with his snout and backed away in excitement.

Knowing the battle was lost, she sighed and pushed herself off the mattress, only to be stopped by the arm around her waist that was clutching her tighter by the second. She choked down a laugh at her cuddling bedmate and gave up struggling as Will pulled her back down and snuggled into her hair.

"Don't get up yet," he murmured tiredly. His leg hooked around one of hers to keep her anchored to him. She chuckled lightly and—with some difficulties—turned around to rest her head on his chest.

She placed a light kiss on the exposed skin before looking upwards.

"I think Winston needs me," she mumbled, her words muffled by his skin before snuggling closer to enjoy the warmth Will was emanating. The thought of having to leave the heated sanctuary of the bed was deeply unappealing, but the persistent snout butting against her back was slowly convincing her a quick trip outside might be beneficial. If for nothing else, then to satisfy the stubborn dog behind her, and perhaps allow her a few extra hours of rest.

Will tilted his head down to send her a mildly accusing look, softened by the raised corners of his mouth.

"And since you're leaving me here for him, I'm assuming my own dog is higher in the hierarchy than I am?" he stated though his tone betrayed his teasing question.

She grinned cheekily up at him.

"Well, right now he is, since I don't assume you need help going to the bathroom," she quipped before pushing against his chest to lift herself from the bed. "Unless, of course, there is something you're not telling me," she added, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips before pulling away.

Just before she was able to flee, Will pulled her back to his lips where she lost herself to the moment, effectively forgetting everything about Winston.

* * *

After finally extracting herself from Will's tight embrace, Ashland got up and let the dogs out. She wondered how they had managed to hold it in, as Will had managed to distract her for all of thirty minutes before she had coerced him to go back to sleep. Poor pups. Ashland smiled to herself and relocated to the kitchen to put together some breakfast.

It was a mindless task, and perhaps one too lacking in thought activity, as her mind wandered elsewhere than the eggs she was whisking while the bacon popped and fizzed on the pan.

Her thoughts wandered leisurely back to the disaster of the previous day. Walking out of the FBI Headquarters had to have been one of the worst decisions she had ever made. Not only did she have to deal with feds snooping around in her luggage, she had also—much to her horror—allowed the words of that fraudulent journalist to dig themselves deep and take residence in her mind.

Her need for comfort had the previous day overridden any semblance of logic, but now that she was alone, thoughts were flurrying through her mind af two hundred miles an hour. There was no filter—for Freddie had allowed none, when she so bluntly stated her certainty, that Will was the murderer they were all looking for—there was only the realization that the accusation in some twisted and terrible way may have merit.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Will entered the room. As the smell of burned meat reached his nostrils, he turned to see a pan of blackened bacon in front of an immobile Ashland. He worriedly called out her name, but she didn't react. Ashland stood completely still, silently watching the meat turn into charcoal, and Will stepped swiftly forward and grabbed the pan off the stove, threw it into the sink and doused it with water.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, as he touched her shoulder, bringing her back from the mess that was her mind.

Startled, Ashland's head snapped towards him and she took him in with wide eyes. She shook her head and reached up a hand to push her hair back behind her ears.

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking," she muttered, looking towards the stove to tend to the bacon cooking, but she found it empty as she reached for the spatula.

"Where's the…?" she trailed off, looking around her, as if the pan might have moved on its own.

"Charred in the sink," he noted drily, his tone amused. His hand grasped her other shoulder and turned her towards him. The look on her face was enough to wipe the modest smile off his face. The watery depths of her eyes were widened, but the surprise was gone. Her eyes were imploring; waiting for something. Something that he couldn't _quite_ identify. He once again cursed her ability to remain completely closed off to him. It was peculiar to him. How the signs were all there, yet he found himself completely unable to interpret them.

"You're… Searching for something," he mumbled, a crease appearing between his brows as he took in her lightly downturned mouth and the wide-eyed stare she was directing at him. He pushed a strand of stray blonde hair behind her ear, before tracing his hand to the back of her neck, lightly placing it there for reassurance.

Ashland stiffened.

"I think I need to talk to Jack Crawford," she mumbled, and broke off the contact before rushing out of the room, presumably to get dressed. While Will should probably have followed her to question her sudden need to rush—and particularly her need to see the man who just yesterday had her luggage defiled—rooted him to the place.

While most things in the mind of Ashland Vodall laid hidden to him, one thing had been clear as day on Ashland's face as his hand had touched the back of her neck: Fear.

* * *

Having yet to pick up her car from her old apartment building—luckily the perpetrator had left her car untouched—she was left standing outside Will's house, enduring the cold wind as a punishment for her rash actions. She hadn't grabbed her jacket, her cell phone was still in the tight and unyielding grasp of the FBI, she didn't have her car and worst of all, she didn't have the courage to go back into the kitchen to call a cab. Facing Will after—yet again—having stormed out, was more than she could handle in her current state, especially given their previous position. For a second, she had been absolutely certain he would choke her.

She brought a hand up to clench the t-shirt resting right over her heart, as she felt the hurried beats thumping behind her ribcage; she had yet to calm down completely.

Contemplating a way she could sneak back into the house without him noticing—hopefully he had long abandoned the kitchen—she hesitantly snuck around the corner of the house with the intention to check the kitchen window, just as she heard the front door open and slam shut only a second later. She didn't move out of the spot during the time it took for Will to get in his car and drive off, leaving her behind at the house, alone.

As the sound of the car faded to nothing she suddenly felt very juvenile. Here she was, trying to climb in a window just to avoid the man she loved.

The thought struck her hard.

'Crap,' she thought, choking back tears at the thought of loving someone who may or may not have murdered her best friend in cold blood.

Ashland almost felt like climbing in the window just so she could climb back out of it. She had been back with Will for less than half a week and somehow everything had managed to squeeze into place, in a completely twisted and sinister way. It was like the pieces of her puzzle were all put together wrong only to obscured the final image that showed when assembled correctly. Nothing about this was right, and there was only one person she felt could even begin to correct all of the puzzle pieces.

Ashland wiped her eyes and checked her watch; twelve fifteen. She could be in Baltimore by two thirty if she went to go and rent a car immediately.

She could only hope Hannibal was free this time of day.

* * *

Hannibal was just letting out his latest client, when there was a knock on the door to his office. Not wanting to aggravate his previous patient—he suspected him to have a severe bipolar disorder, but would have to do a screening their next session to be absolutely certain—he escorted him to the exit door and politely bid him adieu before closing the door and reentering his office to greet his visitor. He opened the door, and was not entirely surprised to see Jack Crawford standing in his waiting room. After all, he had been half expecting this visit for quite some time, after having been sending very anonymous messages to the Office of Inspector General.

"Good afternoon, Hannibal. I'm terribly sorry to disturb you during your working hours, but I'm afraid this is urgent; may I come in?" he asked as he took off his black snap-brim hat. He lowered it with both hands, bringing it to rest against the side of his light brown coat as he waited for a response.

Hannibal checked his watch, more out of curtesy than out of need—he knew perfectly well what time it was—and assumed a lightly disappointed countenance.

"I'm afraid I have a client in a few minutes, but after that my schedule for today is free," he answered, despite knowing Jack would find a way to negate his reasoning for turning him away at this time of day.

"I assure you, it won't take any longer than a couple of minutes," Jack insisted, proving Hannibal right.

Rude.

"Very well, come in," Hannibal stated in acquiescence, standing aside to let Jack enter. As the door was closed behind him, he wasted no time getting straight to the point of the matter; Jack had a feeling Hannibal was counting down the seconds of the two minute delay he had accepted, in order to help his FBI co-worker.

"Since you're working, I will cut straight to the chase. Yesterday, I was visited by none other than Kade Prurnell."

"I see," Hannibal spoke, preparing himself for whatever inquiries Jack may have, should the FBI have found out about his involvement with this particular matter.

"She was concerned about having Will Graham working as a special agent," Jack continued. Hannibal held back a sigh at Jack's continued disillusion; it almost wasn't funny anymore how blind he was.

"I trust you told her of my psychological evaluation of his capabilities to work as a field agent," Hannibal replied as he seated himself. He gestured towards the chair opposite of his for Jack to sit.

Jack quickly drew back the sleeve of his coat to check his watch, before he too sunk down into the supple leather of the elegant armchair.

"I did. She demanded a second opinion."

His plan of keeping Jack busy was backfiring.

"Is there anything I can do to assist you in this matter?" Hannibal asked. He would doubtlessly be able to find a psychiatrist suitably malleable for his purposes.

"I was hoping you would be able to recommend an esteemed colleague in the field. I have a feeling nothing less will do when working under the orders of the Office of Inspector General."

Hook, line and sinker.

"I was under the impression Alana Bloom would be a sufficient alternative," he proposed, already knowing the answer.

"Prurnell was very adamant the psychologist was to have no previous ties to Will, as it could taint the evaluation report," Jack replied as he leaned back in the chair. He seemed exhausted.

'Good,' Hannibal thought to himself; a distracted Jack Crawford would no doubt help him navigate the treacherous waters of the FBI investigation.

"As you wish. I will browse my catalogue and get back to you; Will is picky about who picks his brain, as shall I be when I select someone, though I suspect he will manage to find himself resenting whomever I choose, nevertheless, I will be careful in my selection."

"Thank you, Hannibal. I appreciate it," Jack said gratefully, as he breathed out a great sigh of relief. He now had one less thing to worry about.

There came a knock on the door.

"Now, I believe that is my next client."

"I'll show myself out."

* * *

It took Ashland a while longer than planned to drive to Baltimore. Being unluckily stuck in traffic as the roads to Baltimore had fallen victim to an accident—a truck-driver colliding with man pushing the speed limits—it had taken her an hour to get past the accident site, and even longer to reach the Hannibal's practice at 687 Bayshore Avenue. It was 3.45 pm. His car was still there. Securing a parking spot the closest to the entrance as possible, Ashland parked the car and waited.

While she had been very determined back in Wolf Trap that the only way to fix her mounting amount of problems was to see Hannibal, the idea seemed all the more ridiculous as she sat silently in the car, waiting for Hannibal to emerge. Her, Ashland Vodall, willingly showing up to talk to Hannibal Lecter. It looked like it was going to be a frosty day in hell, because Ashland had sworn to herself after their previous dinner, that she would seek out Hannibal Lecter the day hell froze over. Yet there she was, lying in wait to ambush him; it was indeed a strange turn of events.

The silence in the car did absolutely nothing to still Ashland's chaotic mind. Her thoughts were circling the things she was trying to shove deep into the back of her mind and no matter how much she fought, the image of Will stood strong in her mind. Half of the time she saw herself holding tightly onto him while pressing her lips against his, the other half of the time—the half she tried desperately to suppress—Will stood before her, his shirt and pants splashed with blood; his eyes cold and his lips tightly pressed together, allowing the flecks of maroon to coat the stubbled skin of his cheek.

She turned on the car, trying to drown out the thoughts with the sound of the radio but she promptly changed the channel as the chorus of 'Stay With Me' by Sam Smith came on.

"-wish you were my first love, 'cause if you were first, baby there would be n-".

The radio cut off immediately as Ashland aggressively punched the off-button on the radio. Instead she sat back to staring sullenly out the window while contemplating why even the radio seemed to be against her. Luckily, it seemed she didn't have to skulk much longer; only two minutes after she had forced the radio into silence, she saw Hannibal exit the building. It seemed luck was—for once—on her side.

Ashland swiftly snatched the key out of the ignition, opened the door and slammed it behind her after she got out. Her steps were swift and filled with purpose as she walked towards Hannibal, who had just reached his car. He looked up in surprise as she greeted him.

"Good afternoon Doctor Lecter."

He halted.

"Good afternoon Miss Vodall," he replied pleasantly, letting the hand clutching the car keys fall to his side. He looked at her questioningly.

Ashland took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry to ambush you like this, but I really needed to talk to you," she stated, clasping her hands together to prevent herself from fiddling with a frayed edge on the pocket of her jeans.

Hannibal nodded once, to show his understanding.

"I'm usually a mere phone call away, but I assume it must be urgent for you to drive so long to see me."

"I think this is conversation best had face to face," Ashland replied solemnly, as she stuck one hand in her pocket to toy with her car keys.

Hannibal almost unnoticeably tightened the grip on his keys at the action and his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together.

"I see. I was on my way home. Will you join me?" Hannibal asked as he unlocked his car and opened the door.

Ashland exhaled deeply in relief and allowed a small smile to slip onto her lips.

"Thank you, yes. I'll just get my car and follow you there, if that's alright."

"That is quite alright, Miss Vodall," Hannibal spoke, the spark of happiness flickering in her eyes as she smiled at him.

"Ashland. Call me Ashland."

His lips tugged lightly upwards, and he watched her with the alertness of a predator on the hunt as she turned around to walk back to her car.

If anything went wrong, the kitchen wasn't very far from the front door of his house, and neither were his collection of knives.

* * *

It was a short drive to Hannibal's house; she could easily recognize the grand building as they pulled into the driveway. She remembered the last time she had been here, and realized it had been the turning point of her life in Washington.

Hopefully, this visit wouldn't have such dramatic consequences, she thought to herself, letting her thoughts stray to Elizabeth. Ashland was having a hard time realizing her best friend was gone. After having gotten over the initial shock of hearing Elizabeth's taped mutilation, to her confusion it felt like everything went completely back to normal. It was like before—back in Montana—when they would go days and sometimes even not talking to one another when they were both busy. Only there would be no midnight phone calls or bad movie marathons this time, yet her brain didn't seem to have caught up to what had happened.

Ashland felt a stab of guilt. She couldn't even grieve properly for her best friend. Was there something wrong with her?

Perhaps it was closure, she though. There had yet to be a burial, as they were still investigating the body from the crime. Maybe that was it.

A tap on the window brought her out of her musings.

Hannibal was leaned forward to look at her through the window, and she immediately turned the key in the ignition and locked her thoughts away for another, more appropriate time. Not that there was ever an appropriate time to be thinking about death and mutilation but to do it while meeting up with Hannibal Lecter seemed distasteful.

Hannibal was already at his front door, as she locked her car and as she stepped up to enter, he opened the door for her, and nodded for her to enter first.

She acknowledged his manners with a soft smile before she entered. Ashland shed her coat, allowing for Hannibal to put it away before they both entered his living room.

"Would you care for a refreshment?" Hannibal asked, as he held out a hand towards the nearest arm chair.

"If it's no trouble," she replied, as she sank into the comfortable chair.

"It is no trouble at all, Ashland."

"Then perhaps a cup of tea?"

"A cup of tea it is."

Hannibal turned on his heel and exited the room.

* * *

It was noon by the time Linda and John Vodall exited the airport with their luggage. The bags under their eyes completed the look of exhaustion seen on them both, stemming from a chaotic night of tossing and turning after having hurriedly packed and planned an impromptu trip to Washington, Virginia. Linda could hardly wait to check into their booked hotel and sleep through the day, as traveling across the country had been an expensive and tiring affair, but they had a daughter to visit. She silently reminded herself to implore Ashland to move closer to home; though they had offered, they couldn't come running across the country every time she got into trouble.

Now they just needed for Ashland to pick them up.

Linda searched her purse for her cell phone and switched it on while waiting impatiently for the home screen to appear. They should have gotten her temporary address while talking to her the previous time; that way they would have been able to get a cab, but her mind had been more focused on whether any plane tickets were available at such a short notice—and whether the price would punch a hole through their savings—to remember to ask for such minor details. Well, minor at the time. Now, as they huddled clutched their jackets closer to their bodies as the howling wind blew by, it seemed anything but minor.

As the phone finally decided to cooperate she tapped into her contacts and found the contact named 'Ash'. She scoffed to herself; despite her daughter's complete lack of faith in her ability to navigate the daunting waters of her smartphone she rarely had any trouble.

Pressing 'call' she brought the phone to her ear and waited, but she was soon the be disappointed.

The call didn't go through.

* * *

"Matcha tea has been used by Buddhist monks since ancient times as a natural remedy. It is said to be both a restorative to the body and the mind, and has the ability to extend one's life," Hannibal spoke as he whisked water into the green powder on the bottom of a large ceramic cup, creating a thin paste. Ashland was almost hypnotized by the erratic movements made by the man in front of her. The bamboo whisk scoured against the sides before he lifted it from the cup and placed it on the tray. He poured carefully heated water into the cup and the surface of the water bubbled up into a thin, light foam.

"Under the current circumstances, the ability to extend life is one I would gladly receive," Ashland noted with humor. Hannibal smiled lightly; the meaning behind his choice of tea had not gone unnoticed.

"And one I would gladly give, though I am afraid that power belongs exclusively to God," he replied, as he slowly lifted the whisk to the top of the foam and touched it carefully to the surface of the air bubbles that had popped through the light layer.

"What is this then? An attempt to defy God?" Ashland questioned, as she reached forward with both hands to take the ceramic cup Hannibal was offering her.

"As the saying goes: 'Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery'," Hannibal replied with a devilish smile as he sieved the bright green tea into another ceramic cup for his own blend. Ashland let out a short chuckle.

"You are the last person I would ever have expected to use that expression," she mumbled before pulling in a deep breath. Hannibal halted in his actions as he observed her while she relished in the smell of fresh vegetables the tea was emanating.

"Yet, here we are."

"Here we are."

Ashland paused as she was about to take a sip and questioningly met the gaze scouring her face; Hannibal had stopped mid-action and was holding the sieve over his cup while his other hand was occupied by a long wooden spoon which scratched against the net of the sieve as he started back into action.

"I was surprised to see you at my office," Hannibal noted, as he averted his eyes and fixated them on the cup in front of him. With a firm and swift hand he pushed the remaining powder through the mesh and placed it back on the tray.

"Yes, well…I suppose that was a bit of a surprise for the both of us," Ashland replied.

She finally took a sip of the frothy brew in her cup, and wasn't entirely sure she enjoyed it. The warmth was a welcome companion to her troubled mind, but the taste was something entirely foreign to her; it was light and vegetal, but with a bitter edge which was only softened by the sweet aftertaste that tickled her tastebuds. Hannibal sure had a taste for the obscure.

Hannibal picked up the exquisite Japanese tea pot sitting on the tray and poured with precision.

"Our minds often brings us places we did not expect. According to Freud the unconscious mind has a will and purpose of its own; one that cannot necessarily be know to the conscious mind."

Hannibal gently put down the tea pot and lifted the bamboo whisk. He dipped it lightly in a cup of cold water to rinse it.

Ashland raised an eyebrow.

"And since we're talking about Freud I assume you're going to tell me, that I'm here because of my deeply latent socially unacceptable ideas and sexual desires?" she asked, jokingly.

Unassumingly, he asked, as the whisk was swiftly transferred from the cold water to the warm tea:

"Is that not why you are here?"

Ashland almost choked on her tea.

"Excuse me?"

"Is that not why you are here?" Hannibal repeated while also repeating the process of whisking warm water into the dusty green tea on the bottom of the cup.

A cough awkwardly escaped Ashland as she pondered how best to answer. This was exactly why she didn't enjoy her the occasional rendezvous she had with Hannibal Lecter; he seemed to be making a hobby out of making her feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

She paused.

"I heard you fine the first time; I just thought I would give you the chance to alter your statement," she muttered, in what she hoped was a dignified way. It probably wasn't. Ashland brought both her hands together around the cup and lowered it to her lap.

"I was under the impression you came here for answers."

Another whisk. She observed his hands as he stirred.

"I am. What are you insinuating?", Ashland asked, even though she very well knew the answer.

"That your conflicting feelings for Will Graham is what led you to visit me today."

She felt a stab of annoyance.

"And what conflicting feelings are those?" she questioned warily. He couldn't possibly…

"Your sexual attraction along with you apparent fear of what he is capable of."

…Apparently he could. She paused, and thought quietly to herself, that this was exactly why she shouldn't have come.

"Strange, I thought it was Will who had the curse of empathy," she muttered as Hannibal lightly dusted the whisk across the light foam, and she watched as the tiny air bubbles popped from the light pressure.

"The gift of empathy…" Hannibal stated calmly. "…comes easily to those who care."

Ashland's brows scrunched together as she leisurely took another sip of her tea to allow her some time to gather her thoughts, before allowing the cup to rest on her thighs with her fingers curled around the warm ceramic surface.

"You're saying he doesn't," she stated, her words tainted by uncertainty.

"I'm saying I do."

Ashland opened her mouth to reply but closed it again, feeling at a loss for words. Hannibal had never seemed to be fond of her, what had changed?

With the firm knowledge that she had no answer to the statement at hand, she decided to veer from the road they were on, and return to her original issue.

"I'm not afraid of Will. I'm just… I'm confused. And I don't know how to deal with it."

His eyes narrowed minutely at her ploy of avoidance. He hesitated for no more than a split second, but it was enough to tell Ashland he was aware of what she was doing, and for some reason unbeknownst to her, he was allowing it.

"Tell me what confuses you," he prodded, as he placed the bamboo whisk down in a small cup on the tray.

Ashland paused, pondering how best to express her concerns. Hannibal was—first and foremost—Will's friend and therapist; how those two things were not mutually exclusive was a mystery to her, but that was nonetheless the situation. It would do her no good to accuse him and drive Hannibal away.

With carefully selected words, she continued.

"I stumbled onto Freddie Lounds yesterday, or rather, she stumbled onto me in what I'm beginning to suspect was a rather deliberate scheme."

Hannibal lifted his ceramic cup to his lips, taking a cautious sip as he contemplated her words.

"Miss Lounds has a rather unorthodox way of handling her affairs," he confirmed, placing his cup down. Despite Hannibal expertly disguising it behind a detached—yet polite—tone, Ashland heard the slight hum of annoyance lining his words. She immediately latched onto it.

"I see she's ambushed you as well."

A muscle in his jaw twitched minutely at her observation.

"Under the pretense of being a new prospective client, yes," he revealed, and allowed the base of his cup to meet the tray, allowing him to lean back into his chair. He crossed his legs and gathered his hands in his lap. She paused in the hopes he would elaborate, but the expectant look he leveled at her told her she would be waiting for a long time.

"I'm assuming she may have had the same ulterior motive in contacting you as she had contacting me," Ashland replied, her voice naught more than a whisper.

"Miss Lounds is always on the hunt for a story; good or bad seems to matter to her no more than the ethics of her field does."

The diplomatic nature of the answer had an uncomfortable ache brewing deep inside Ashland; Hannibal was hiding something, something he assumed she wasn't ready to hear. Perhaps she wasn't.

"So she asked about Will?"

For once, his reply was swift.

"She asked about you."

Ashland tightened her grip on her cup.

"About me?".

"Yes."

This time it was her turn to hesitate. Did she really want to know? She chewed down on her lip. Yes, she did.

Throwing caution to the wind, she asked:

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her the same thing Will once told her: It's not a very good idea to upset a man who thinks about killing people for a living."


	7. Arrivée

Unfortunately, it seems I am moving through this story at a pace that is positively glacial. As I am studying journalism, I seem to have no urge to write outside of school lately, as I do a fair bit of it in my classes. I'll do my best to update again as soon as possible, but I have yet to start the next chapter, so it may be a while. I'll update my profile though, so you can keep track on how far along the chapter is, when I get started.

I'm still planning on finishing this, it'll likely just take a while.

Enjoy!

Beta: Nemi Nightingale

* * *

Ashland arrived back in Wolf Trap to complete and utter chaos.

"Ashland Vodall! You get in here right now!" a concerned voice howled out of one of the living room windows, just seconds after she had pulled up to the house. Ashland hadn't even managed to lock the car door before she was startled by her mother's loud voice and dropped the keys in surprise, hastily turning around.

"Mom?" Ashland asked hesitantly. She squinted her eyes at the woman who was leaning so far out the window, she was close to tipping over and end up sprawled on the porch.

"Don't you 'mom' me; you get in here, and you do it right now," her mother roared threateningly. Ashland swiftly complied. Her mom could get all kinds of riled up when in one of her moods, and Ashland was not up for tempting fate.

Scuttling up the steps to the porch and the door opened and she was immediately met with a threatening finger pointing at her, two inches from her nose.

"You, missy, have a lot of explaining to do," Linda spoke, her voice low and serious.

"Look, mom, I just neede–".

"You just needed to come and pick up your dear parents from the airport, that's what you needed to do," Linda chided. But her mood didn't last long. When she saw the startled, guilty look spread on Ashland's face, her hand dropped in exasperation.

She sighed and all the anger fizzed from her like air from a punctured balloon.

"What were you doing, honey? We couldn't get a hold of you," Linda said, stepping closer to Ashland and bringing her hand up to cradle her daughter's cheek.

Not in the mood to ponder further over her visit with Hannibal Lecter, Ashland diverted the conversation.

"I thought you were going to call me when you had everything arranged. How did you find me?"

"We looked your friend up in the phone book. I hope we don't run into any other Wills in this area, because we have called them all, apparently at terribly bad times," Linda chuckled.

Ashland hesitantly joined in, but her smile dropped as she heard the creaking of the floorboards inside the house. Will stepped quietly around her mom and onto the porch with Winston trailing behind him. Linda nodded towards him with a small smile.

"I almost hung up on this one when I heard his accent. He doesn't sound European at all," Linda quipped lightly.

Ashland's brows scrunched together as she nervously surveyed Will. His stubble was as untouched as it was this morning when it had scratched against her cheek. His eyes were as light as ever but like this morning, they were darkened with an unknown emotion, as he examined her, like she did him.

To Ashland this morning felt like days ago. Like a wall had been erected right between them in the span of a few hours. She couldn't help but feel it was her own fault.

Saving what was bound to be a terrible conversation for later, she turned back towards her mother, with a frown etched onto her face. Wait… What did she just say?

"Why would Will sound European?"

Will followed Ashland's example and turned towards Linda Vodall at the question. Why she would assume he was European was beyond him.

"Well, from Elizabeth, of course!" she said with a matter-of-factness that portrayed her absolute faith in their knowledge of the situation.

At their blank looks she sighed and elaborated.

"Back when Elizabeth called me to tell me she was going to Washington, she told me a man named Will had called her to tell her you were in trouble. Remember? I distinctively remember telling you this, you never listen do you? Anyway, I didn't recognize the name, so I asked about it, and she said he sounded European," Linda replied with a shrug.

"Poor girl mustn't have heard you right. Perhaps the reception failed her… She does live in an awfully shady area," Linda added, as Ashland found herself completely dumbstruck for the few seconds it took for her mom to continue her monologue.

"Uh, mom… Will never called Bess."

Linda looked towards her daughter, miffed at the unspoken accusation. Linda Vodall was no liar!

"He most certainly did. She called herself and told us before she left for Virginia," she stated self-assuredly. She remembered the odd phone call as if it were yesterday.

Though she was absolutely certain about what Elizabeth had said, the tense silence that stretched between Will and her daughter told her the situation might not be as it seemed.

Ashland turned slowly towards Will.

"But if you didn't call…" Ashland trailed off.

"From your phone…" Will added.

"Then someone else must have," Ashland concluded.

The only sound that was heard through their grim silence was the strong wind rushing through the branches surrounding Will's house. No one dared utter a sound. The thought was almost too alarming to entertain, but nevertheless they had to.

Ashland felt a shiver run all the way up her back, and it wasn't from the cold. The phone she thought she lost, was now, most likely, in the hands of a murderer; in the hands of someone very much capable of killing them all.

"We need to tell Jack," Will prompted after a moment of deliberation. Ashland nodded swiftly and took her mom's arm in her hand and started dragging them both towards Will's car.

"What are you two going on about?" Linda asked sharply, trying to free her arm from her daughter's firm grasp that was pulling her towards the gravel track to the left of the house.

Ashland shot a look back at Will who was in the process of pushing Winston inside. Their eyes met for a second and he shortly flashed the car keys to let her know he was joining them in a minute. Ashland nodded and let go of her mom, but she continued on towards Will's car with confident steps.

"Come on, mum, we need to go on a little road trip."

* * *

It didn't take more than three minutes within their departure from the Graham household for Linda Vodall to fall asleep in the backseat of the car. It seemed she had kept herself awake after the long flight just so she could scold Ashland for not showing up to pick them up at the airport.

Anything for a good scolding, Ashland found herself thinking fondly. It was strange how her mom's mere presence in the car brought back memories. The sight of her snoring gently against the window made Ashland think back to when they would drive up to Lewis and Clark National Forest and spend nights in a rented cabin and days on hiking trails. Ashland would always fall asleep on the drive and awake just as they arrived, dissatisfied by being jolted awake by the bumps of the uneven roads of the forest.

Oh how the roles had been reversed.

She almost let out a snicker at the sight, until she noticed the less than subtle looks Will was sending her from his position in the driver's seat. She slowly turned her gaze back towards the road, waiting for when he was going to address the elephant in the room.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he stared resolutely at the road, not willing to spare her another glance as he prepared himself for what he was about to say.

"So," he spoke quietly.

_Called it._

Ashland held in a sigh. She wished she had had the time to prepare for this conversation, and that it wasn't happening in the car with her mom in the backseat. It was doubtlessly going to be slow and painful; like peeling off a band aid stuck to the wound, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. She had just been hoping it would have been later.

It seemed they did nothing lately but try and settle their differences. And what many differences they had. _I bet no normal couple have these sort of problems, _Ashland thought to herself, and shot Will an apologetic look.

"Look, I'm sorry about this morning, I had something I needed to figure out," she whispered, glancing back at her mom to ensure their privacy. Linda was still sleeping.

Will hesitated.

"About me," he stated. There was no question in his voice.

She almost wished there had been, but his certainty told her, she needed to come clean. They would never be able to move past this if they didn't talk about it. Now, whether she _wanted_ them to move past it, was still a question yet to be answered for her.

"Yes."

Will was silent. Ashland fidgeted in her seat as he set his sharp stare on her, before turning his stony gaze back towards the road. The look seemed both full and empty and she found that she couldn't read a single emotion. It was a scary realization.

She was startled when he broke the silence.

"You were terrified of me this morning," Will started and paused.

He'd noticed. Urgh, fuck. He seemed to be mulling over his words, uncertain on how to proceed. _You and me both,_ Ashland thought, but decided to put him out of his misery. "Yeah… About that…" Ashland hesitated, just as lost as Will was.

"What happened?"

With a hesitant sigh, Ashland gave up and delved into her encounter with the obnoxious journalist, Freddie Lounds. All the while, something in the back of her mind was nagging at her. Something she had said…

What could it possibly b–…

_Crap._ She had called them a couple.

* * *

The rest of the 45 minutes were tense. While Will couldn't begrudge her for her suspicion—someone seemed to be out to frame him—he would have hoped she was less susceptible to the nonsensical ramblings of a woman who had nothing better to do than chase her next victim.

They had barely pulled up to the B.A.U. before Ashland had rocketed out of her seat in an eager attempt to vacate the strained silence permeating the car.

"I'll go ahead and find Jack," she mumbled before swiftly shutting the door, cutting off any and all chances for Will to argue.

She almost felt bad for leaving him in the car to deal with her mother. Almost.

* * *

"Jack!"

A familiar voice echoed down the hallway; one he was fairly certain he didn't want to be hearing right now. Or ever, for that matter.

'_That woman's like a black cat,'_ he thought to himself. '_Whenever she crosses my road, bad shit starts happening.' _

Halting, he waited for Ashland Vodall to catch up. He had nowhere to go, no leads to follow up on, but he refused to sit around twiddling thumbs as he waited for a lead to come to him. She would have to make this quick.

As he turned around to greet her, he noticed her worried face and felt the sudden urge to go practice his sharp shooting on a moving target. She was, undoubtedly, bringing more bad news. Great.

Like he hadn't gotten enough of that lately.

"Jack! We have something," Ashland called again, huffing and puffing as she stopped in front of him. It seemed he had been walking faster than he had thought.

"What?" he huffed, praying to God Ashland was here with valuable information. As of today, he had no tolerance for self-important women.

"It's kinda important, is there somewhere we can talk?" Ashland asked, as she took deep breaths, trying to regain her composure

_Well. _Maybe he didn't have to wait around for a lead after all.

* * *

"So you're saying your friend spoke to the killer before she was murdered?" Jack asked.

He had led them into his office, and had gotten straight to the point, telling her she had two minutes before he left her behind to show herself out.

A very real threat considering her troubles navigating the halls of the B.A.U. the last time she was in the building.

But as soon as she mentioned the killer, his ears almost visibly perked up.

"He called from my number, apparently," Ashland confirmed with a sigh.

Jack felt a rush of excitement pour through his body. This was a lead. A good, solid lead. He felt a slight stab of annoyance, that it had come from Ashland Vodall of all people. It was one he had been hoping to find himself.

After the complete and utter fiasco with the search warrant, Jack had been reluctant to take further action in order to find Ashland Vodall's old missing cell phone. Now it seemed he hadn't been completely wrong in his previous efforts to locate it. Finding the cell phone may just mean finding the killer.

"So we can safely assume he has your phone in his possession," Jack stated sternly but swiftly, with a hidden eagerness, waiting desperately for her to confirm.

"I'd assume so, yes," Ashland answered with a shrug. She couldn't possibly know whether the killer still had her phone in their possession, but it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try right now.

Jack locked a harsh stare onto her, judging, evaluating the legitimacy of her words. He needed to be absolutely certain. His career was hanging in a thin thread by now.

Ashland averted her eyes and shifted in the chair. Jack's dominating stare was unsettling to say the least.

Finding no reason for her to lie about this—unless she had planted the phone—he dug out his cellphone from his inner pocket and dialed. It didn't ring for long before it was picked up.

Jack wasted no time with formalities.

"Petersen, get me the tech department, we need to track a cellphone," he barked before immediately hanging up.

"When did you last have it?" he asked Ashland, pocketing his phone and preparing himself for the chaos that was surely about to ensue.

Ashland hesitated.

"I'm not sure... I think I left it at Will's house before I left for Montana," she answered thoughtfully. She couldn't recall having it after, and she wasn't certain she had it when she left for Hannibal's house.

Jack's stare hardened and his entire body stiffened. This was not good. Not good. At. All.

He let out an exasperated breath. This was just getting worse and worse. He was definitely getting fired if this turned out the way it was looking to turn out.

"I hope you realize how this looks," Jack said quietly.

It seemed Ashland had yet to realize the severity of what she was telling him. Her brows scrunched together in confusion.

"No… I mean… Mum said Bess said he sounded European," she elaborated, in the hopes Jack wasn't preparing to do something rash. Like arrest Will. Who was she kidding? Judging by the desperate look on his face, he'd probably arrest Winston if he thought he'd get something out of it.

"So all you have is a hearsay testimony," Jack commented with a sigh. This wasn't looking good for either of them.

"Well, it's pretty hard to mistake," she attempted weakly.

"Has she ever been to Europe?" he questioned, though it wouldn't have mattered much by now. He had all he needed to bring Will in for interrogation. It was a possibility they couldn't yet dismiss. Not with the way things were looking.

"No," Ashland muttered, sounding as defeated as she looked.

"Anyone can sound like a European if you've never been to Europe," Jack stated calmly. He took a deep breath. This would be hard. "We need to take him in."

"No! Isn't there anything we can d–" Ashland questioned, desperately, but was cut off.

"Right now there isn't, and even if there were, I wouldn't if I were you," Jack answered coldly. If Will were out to get her, they needed to act fast. "Where is he?"

Ashland hesitated, but a stern glare from Jack prompted her to speak.

She cleared her throat. "Out front, parking the car."

He stood from his chair and righted his suit before he left the room, muttering to himself.

"I hate it when Prurnell is right."


	8. Culpabilité

I am a weak, weak person, and gave up waiting. So here it is; chapter 8. Entirely un-beta'd.

I am absolute crap at commas in english, so proceed at your own risk.

Chapter 9 is practically done, so if you're lucky, I'll post it in a week or so.

Enjoy!

* * *

Ashland shuffled through the door, with a flabbergasted mother behind her. She had been silent for the entire trip home after having witnessed an overt display of power as Jack Crawford had cuffed Will's hands behind his back, with the backup of his SWAT-goonies.

She threw the keys to Will's car onto the first elevated surface in the livingroom she could find and shuffled into the bedroom, where she closed the door behind her. With a sigh she rubbed her eyes.

It seemed macabre to drive home in Will's car when she had just inadvertently gotten him arrested. Not to mention how inappropriate it was for her entire family to be camping out in his house when he wasn't there. Aaaaand was a suspect for the murder of her best friend. Awkward.

"When did things become so complicated?" she mumbled to herself and leaned back against the door, her head thumping against the wooden surface.

"Ash?" a voice groaned from the bed. She jumped and bumped her head painfully against the door leading to a string of groaned curses spilling from her mouth.

"Dad," she greeted gruffly, while rubbing her throbbing head.

The new, fuzzy comforting feeling of having a little piece of home with her in Wolf Trap had completely vanished in the past couple of hours. All that ran through her was a swift stab of annoyance, and the guilt that followed. She'd asked them to come; she couldn't start blaming them for the lack of privacy.

"Sweetheart," her dad confirmed and he stood from Will's bed in his best pair of rumpled pajamas.

He greeted her with arms wide open and as he hugged her with the intensity of a man who hadn't seen his daughter for half a year, she let herself go and cried.

* * *

It was a strange evening for the Vodall family in Wolf Trap. They all shuffled restlessly around the house in an attempt to distract themselves from Will's arrest. Linda Vodall was cleaning, as she always did when she didn't know what else to do, John Vodall was re-reading a day-old Washington Post, and Ashland Vodall sat on the steps leading to the porch, considering all the possible ways for her to flee without the police yanking back the metaphorical leash they had put on her.

She shivered as a crisp wind blew by. Her shoulders were raised to shield her neck from the blows of cold air rushing by while she wrung her hands with chilled fingers. The door opened behind her. She paid it no mind. The sound of a vacuum cleaner wrecking havoc on Will's living room blew out open door, and revealed who was standing behind her in the door opening.

"You'll get a cold if you stay out here."

The statement was punctuated by a particularly icy gust of wind. Ashland shivered and dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

"Then I'll get a cold, dad."

"Why don't you come inside?" John asked, holding the door open a bit further, much to the displeasure of Linda who yelled for him to close the door as he is 'letting in a terrible draft'.

He yells back a 'yes, honey' and the sound of vacuuming moves further away, probably to the bedroom.

"I'd rather stay," Ashland replied.

"You should probably go in. Mom's not good with the cold," she added, looking back at him over her shoulder.

He hesitated before stepping onto the porch, closing the door behind him. He shivered and crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to conserve what little warmth he could find before plopping down next to her.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart," he murmured, bringing an arm around her to tug her into a sideways hug. She sullenly laid her head on his shoulder.

"Then whose is it?"

John sighed.

"Don't play dumb, Ash, it doesn't suit you. This is not your fault, and you can only pray to God that it isn't Will Graham's either," he said before kissing the top of her head and standing up.

"Now come inside, your mother is worried," John added before opening the door and venturing back inside.

"Fine," Ashland muttered with a small smile building on her lips before she hurried after her father into the warm house.

* * *

Will was cuffed to the table, when she entered the room. It shouldn't have surprised her, it really shouldn't have. They were in a prison, and Will was an inmate. Of course he would be cuffed. _Of course he would_. But somehow, seeing it made it all the more real.

While she had been having dinner with _her family_ in _his house_ he had been stuck in _prison_. This just wasn't… right, she thought. And there he was. In his orange prison jump suit. Cuffed to the table like some sort of criminal.

The heavy steel door shut behind her and it was just then she found herself considering the very likely option, that Will would be mad at her for getting him arrested. Crap.

Perhaps she shouldn't have come.

"Hello Ashland," Will greeted. Nothing in his face or voice clued her in as to what she should expect. He remained painfully blank. She almost cringed at the awkwardness of the situation.

"Hi Will," she greeted back, reluctantly. "How are you?"

The words flew out of her mouth before she had any chance to filter them. Crap. 'How are you?' What sort of question was that even? God, the man is imprisoned. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Fine, thanks," he managed to get out in a strained voice. Great. Really great, Ashland.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I just… This is just a terrible situation," Ashland said with a sigh, trying to make up for asking the most stupid question of the century.

The edges of Will's lips quirked slightly upwards in a sardonic smile.

"It is, isn't it," he muttered looking towards his hands. They were cuffed to a chain that ran to the middle of the table, where a hoop was installed to keep the chains—and by extension Will—shackled.

"Why are you here, Ashland?"

* * *

Jack Crawford wasn't looking forward to the call he was about to make. Really, any conversations he had had after Will's arrest, had been marked by accusing attitudes. It seemed all of the collected staff of the B.A.U. believed he had made the wrong judgement call in hiring Will Graham in the first place.

He was starting to seriously doubt, he would make it out of the FBI with both his job and his reputation intact after this entire ordeal.

And now, he had to make the call to Hannibal Lecter to request a psychological evaluation. One he had been hoping to spring on Will under more calm circumstances. But Will was in jail and Jack's career was hanging by a thread, so he would do as Kade Prurnell had advised and hope to all that's good and holy that his efforts would placate her.

* * *

Ashland searched her mind for the best way to answer his question. Because really… Why _was _she here?

…Oh, right.

"I'm here to apologize," Ashland answered, remaining standing just inside the heavy steel door. She wasn't entirely sure she was ready to close the distance between them and sit down. And she wasn't entirely sure, he was ready for that either.

"For what?" he asked, leaning back as far as his chained cuffs would allow him. Ashland watched him halt his actions as the chains had reached their limit.

"For not believing in you," she muttered, taking a small step closed while sheepishly rubbing her left upper arm with her right hand.

Will scoffed.

"You'll have to excuse me, if I find it somewhat ironic to hear that coming from you, after you got me arrested," he commented, suddenly finding the iron hoop in the center of the table very interesting.

Ashland rolled her eyes and took the last few step towards the table before planting herself on the chair opposite Will's. She was here to apologize, and apologize she would.

"Look, Will. I didn't mean to get you arrested," she insisted, reaching over to take one of the hands planted firmly, palms down, on the table. He didn't resist but turned his hand around and greeted her warm hand gratefully. "You know Jack… He draws his own conclusions," she finished, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"And we're all just left hanging onto his coat tails as he finds a way to make his conclusions fit," Will commented. "I know. I guess you're not the only one who has something to apologize for," he said with a sigh.

He brought his other hand forward to cradle her hand within his own. With gentle hands he turned her hand over, palm up, and gently traced the shallow lines in her hand with his thumbs.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she whispered, and took both of his hands with hers.

They sat together in silence, just gazing at each other for a while. It wasn't before they heard a resounding pound on the steel door accompanied by the sound of a man's voice calling out 'ten minutes,' that they let go of each other and leaned back in their chairs.

Will was the one to break the silence between them.

"We need to figure out who has the phone."

* * *

Hannibal picked up on the second call.

"Hello Jack," he greeted.

Always the call screener, that Hannibal Lecter.

"Hannibal, I have a favor to ask you," Jack said, skipping the formalities and getting straight to the point.

"What can I help you with, Jack?" Hannibal questioned in a lightly curious tone.

Jack more often than not tried to keep up a polite front when dealing with Hannibal, as he rightfully should, Hannibal thought, so this was quite the anomaly.

"I asked for your recommendations on a colleague of yours for a psychological evaluation on Will Graham. Have you found anyone suitable for the job?" Jack asked, while eyeing his watch.

He had to keep his phone free for incoming calls. The tech department or the phone company may get back to him anytime with a hit.

"Yes, I find that a former student of mine would be suitable for your purposes," Hannibal answered, pausing for a breath before asking one of the questions he was eager to have answered.

"If I may ask, why the rush, Jack?"

Jack sighed and brought a hand up to rub the deepening lines between his brows.

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask," he said with a sigh, knowing he should have expected being questioned on his rather rushed request.

"I thought you knew me by now," Hannibal replied with a teasing edge to his tone.

"I know, I know. You always ask," Jack replied with a short laugh. The amusement was short-lived though, as Jack knew what would follow his next words.

"Will Graham has been arrested. The psych eval won't be for his capabilities to work as a field agent, instead we need to know whether he could have murdered Elizabeth Barret or not," Jack spoke, his words slow and clear, conveying the seriousness of the matter.

The line went silent for a couple of seconds. It was enough for Jack to know, that Hannibal Lecter was disturbed by the news. Not that he would have expected him not to be; Hannibal and Will had an odd dynamic, but one that spoke of great companionship. One, that would likely last through Will's imprisonment, whether he was innocent or guilty of the crimes he would be put on trial for.

Jack fully expected Hannibal to show up in the morning, either under pretense of his own psychological interest in the case or for him to openly show his support to Will. Jack had his bets on the former.

Hannibal was the one to break the silence.

"I will send down Mikaela for you tomorrow."

Jack breathed out deeply in relief.

"Thank you, Hannibal," Jack replied, earnestly. One less thing to worry about.

"It is no trouble. Why was he arrested?" Hannibal asked casually, or what seemed like it, anyway. Hannibal was taking the news well; suspiciously well, Jack thought to himself.

"I trust this stays between us?"

"Naturally."

"A man calling himself Will called Elizabeth Barret on Ashland Vodall's phone previous to Barrets death. Miss Vodall could not say precisely when she lost it but it was sometime between her departure from Will Graham's home and her arrival in Montana," Jack explained.

Yet again the line went silent for a couple of seconds.

"I see," Hannibal spoke, his tone neutral.

"We're looking for the phone, but we haven't gotten any hits so far," Jack replied while granting his watch another look. He really needed to get off the phone.

"It seems you have a solid lead, Jack. I hope your search turns out to be fruitful."

"Thank you, Hannibal. Will I be seeing you tomorrow?"

"If my schedule allows it, I be there to assist Mikaela. In case it is needed."

There was no hesitation in Hannibal's answer, just as Jack would have expected.

"Until tomorrow then, Doctor Lecter."

"Until tomorrow, Jack."

Jack had barely hung up the phone before there were three hurried knock on his office door. Before he had the time to reply, the door was pushed open.

A rush of annoyance surged through him and he turned towards the door to teach the agent coming through the door a lesson or two about proper professional conduct, when the sight of the head that popped in the door halted his efforts.

It was Valerie Cooke.

"Sir? We have a hit."

* * *

"Do you have any idea who could have it?" Will asked, planting his palms flat on the table, right within the furthest reach of the chain connected to his wrists.

Ashland crossed her arms over her chest and thought back to when she had discovered her phone was gone. The person who would have had the chance to take her phone—from her recollections—was Hannibal and Will. And why would either take her phone?

No, that seemed highly unlikely.

"None," she answered. Her answer didn't seem to please Will. He looked pensively to a spot right above her head, seemingly in deep though.

The fingers of his right hand curled into a claw and he lightly drummed his fingers on the steel surface of the table. Ashland's gaze shifted to his hand and he immediately halted the unconscious action, placing his palm back onto the table.

Will coughed.

"When did you last have it?" he asked.

"I can't really remember. I went to see Hannibal before I left and-" Ashland started, before Will interrupted her.

"You went to see Hannibal?" he asked, incredulously. It was common knowledge the two of them didn't get along.

"Yes," Ashland answered with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe I dropped it on the way there."

"And from there it should have suddenly landed into the hands of someone who knows the both of us and planned to kill your friend?" Will answered skeptically. "Highly unlikely," he finished.

Ashland deflated at his words.

"Then I don't know who could have it," she muttered, studying the surface of the brushed steel table.

Will observed her, hesitating on what he was about to say. Maybe it wasn't a good idea. Hell, it probably wasn't. But maybe he knew something, that could lead them to the killer.

"Maybe… You should pay Hannibal a visit."

"What?"

Ashland looked at Will with wide eyes. Was he suggesting that Hannibal could hav-

"Time is up!" the guard called from outside of the visitation room, before the door was unlocked and two guards entered; one ready to escort her out, the other keeping an eye on Will until he was to go back to his cell.

Ashland reluctantly stood from her seat, following the guard outside before catching a last glimpse of Will before the heavy door was slammed shut.


	9. Révélation

Hiya there! Only ten days since my last update! Wow! Such shock! It is actually possible for me _not _to wait three months before posting.

I _would_ actually have posted this even sooner, but I've been up to my neck in commitments. So here you go.

This is a new favorite chapter of mine, mostly because of a certain bratty techie.

And last, but not least... This is un-beta'd, as my lovely beta is still working her ass off to finish her degree.

Enjoy!

* * *

When Ashland exited the B.A.U. she had only one thought in mind. Visit Hannibal Lecter. Ugh.

She was sure it was bound to be an unpleasant visit, after how they had left things after her last visit. But if it meant leading them closer to getting Will out of prison, then she would suck it up, put her big girl pants on and visit the man.

In the parking lot she absentmindedly toyed with the keys to Will's car. He had allowed for her to borrow it for the day until she got around to picking her own up, so she could drive to Maryland and talk to Hannibal. Maybe, if she was lucky he'd even help her look for her phone. After all, she may have dropped it in his house.

Not that it seemed likely. Hannibal kept his home immaculate; he would have noticed it if something was out of place immediately. But it was worth a try.

So she got in the car and started her drive to Maryland.

* * *

Jack walked into the tech department—a place he rarely frequented and needed Valerie's directions to find—with great anticipation. Anticipation so great, that he missed the puzzled looks on the faces of the techies as some scratched their heads and others tapped their keyboards with severely focused looks.

Walking past the tech workers, he followed Valerie to the first desk where a young woman with offensively red hair was seated, blowing obnoxiously pink bubbles with the piece of gum in her mouth. She was reclining comfortably in her office chair with her arms crossed and her brows scrunched together as she glared at the empty screen in front of her. A bubble popped loudly. She absentmindedly pulled the gum back into her mouth before chewing commenced.

"June?" Valerie spoke cautiously, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Yah?" she muttered through her chewing, refusing to move even an inch, in case the screen would suddenly light up the moment she moved.

"You called me because you'd gotten a hit, remember?" she asked softly, leaning down to see the screen.

"Yeah…"

"Where's the hit then?" Jack spoke, his impatience with this woman shining through. He looked around the room, trying to see if he could spot the location on one of the screens but found nothing. His frown deepened, when he couldn't get eye contact with one single person in the room. They all seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

One even scrambled out of the room with a weak excuse of getting a cup of coffee, while he was already grasping a full mug of steaming hot brew.

_That__'__s it,_ Jack thought, holding back a growl.

"What is going on?" Jack boomed. All occupants of the room winced and pretended to be preoccupied with their blank screens.

It seemed the woman with the red hair—June—was braver than her co-workers.

"We lost it… Somehow. I don't know how. Bad wifi or somthin'," she muttered sarcastically and reached out a hand to bang on the top of the screen.

"Piece of trash," she mumbled sourly and folded her arms back over her chest.

"You what?" Jack asked, menacingly. The remaining techies in the room all mumbled excuses about coffee breaks and having to go to the bathroom while they swiftly filed out of the room.

"_We lost it. _Geez man, are you hard of hearing or something?" June repeated, finally swirling around in the chair to glare up at him.

"So let me get this straight. You call me down here for a hit, and then you tell me you've got _nothing?_" Jack asked, anger radiating from his intimidating frame. His arms were planted in his sides in an agressive display of power, but June seemed completely oblivious.

"Yes," she answered casually. "Well… Not _nothing_, I mean, we have the city, and the general area, but it cut off before we could get a closer look at exactly _where_ in the city," she added before turning her office chair back to face the screen.

Jack and Valerie exchanged wary glances while June tapped away on her keyboard, but remained silent.

"Move over, sweet cheeks," June spouted, lightly patting Valerie's behind to push her away, for her to roll her office chair a few feet to the left in order to reach the printer that had just begun spitting out papers.

She took the load, swirled around in the chair and thrust the papers into Jack's hands before she wheeled back to her desk.

"There you have it. Baltimore. Can't get it any more accurate than that from the hit we got," June said casually, leaning back in her chair with her arms stretched out over her head. With a contented sigh she let her arms drop back onto the armrests as Jack thumbed through the pile of papers.

"This is all?" he asked, skeptically.

"Yes, that is all," June responded with an overly chipper attitude. Jack's frown deepened.

"I thought you said you had a hit?"

"We did. We lost it," June replied calmly. "That is it," June added, pointing towards the papers in Jack's hands.

"How did you lose it?" he demanded, throwing the papers onto the abandoned desk behind him.

"Beats me. Probably removed the SIM-card or something. Makes it a whole lot more difficult to find it," June answered, popping another large chunk of gum into her mouth. She chewed enthusiastically while gazing towards the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Difficult? As in, you can find it?" Valerie asked eagerly. Maybe they still had a chance.

June raised an eyebrow and popped a large, pink bubble.

"If you buy me a Stingray, I might," she replied, with just a little more sass than Jack was readily able to handle.

Taking a deep breath, Jack clenched and unclenched his fists before turning to Valerie, who would hopefully be helpful in interpreting what this nutcase was going on about.

"What is she talking about?" Jack muttered to Valerie, observing the red-haired woman who was sitting in the chair in front of him, blowing pastel pink bubbles.

"I have a feeling she isn't talking about the fish," Valerie muttered back, much to the amusement of June.

"Shark. The stingray is related to the shark, but no. I'm not. I need an IMSI-catcher. Well, _you_ need an IMSI-catcher, but _I _need you to get me one of those babies," June quipped, looking every bit as chipper as the cat who got the cream.

Jack sighed and relented.

"You'll need to fill out a form for standard equipme-" Jack started but was cut off by a horrified June, who almost dropped the gum out of her mouth from how vehemently she was protesting to the standard procedure.

"Nooooooo no no no no no! No! You and I both know that will take _weeks. Weeks, _Crawford! I need it _now_!" she insisted in a shrill tone of voice, that gave Jack a horrid headache.

Feeling like he had sighed more in the past ten minutes than he had done in the past year, he let out yet another sigh and turned to Valerie.

"File a personal request for me. I need it within three days, tops," he spoke quietly, but it seemed June heard him as she started celebrating by pumping her fist in the air with a quiet 'yass'.

"I'll get it to you in two."

* * *

Hannibal plugged the small, rectangular metal-dish back into the phone, now without the SIM-card in it. He had been lucky Jack had called him when he had. Although Ashland had visited him before her phone went missing, thereby making it plausible for her to have dropped it somewhere within the near vicinity of his home, there was no sense in trying to draw anymore attention to himself than was strictly necessary. At least not until he had figured out what he wanted to do with the phone.

And for once, he wasn't entirely sure. He needed Will out of prison; the lack of his presence was becoming an itch, one Hannibal desperately needed to scratch.

Now, he only had to figure out how.

* * *

As Valerie closed the door behind them on the way out, she pulled out her cell phone. The order for the IMSI-catcher needed to be placed as soon as possible, and there was no better time than the present. Or so she thought.

A large hand closed over her own as she was about to dial the familiar number. She looked up in confusion at Jack, who inclined his head towards the hallway leadning down to his office, before he turned and walked away from her with hurried steps. With a frown etched onto her features, she looked both ways down the hallway before jogging to catch up with Jack.

They reached his office within minutes. Jack entered silently and held the door open for her. When she had walked past him, he closed and locked the door before seating himself behind his desk.

"Please," he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat on the other side of the desk.

"What's wrong?" Valerie asked, sitting down on the edge of the chair.

Jack hesitated, leaning forward to brace his weight against his forearms that were resting on the table. He let his eyes roam the room, looking for places to hide a camera or a microphone. There were plenty of places a small object could be hidden; tiny nooks and crannies. It would take forever to search the place.

"…I think we're being watched," he murmured, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. He should probably have had this conversation with Valerie in the hallway where there was more noise and less chance of it being rigged with microphones, but he didn't want any other FBI-agents to know about his suspicions. If he was right, all of their current operations could be at stake. If he were wrong, well, he almost hoped he wasn't… Dealing with phone-tapping was less of a hassle than a straight out mole-hunt.

Valerie looked at him with wide eyes.

"What?" she asked in disbelief, keeping her voice to a whisper.

"I used my phone before we lost the hit, and I think the killer may have been listening in on my conversation with Hannibal," Jack spoke, finally settling his eyes onto his very confused protégée.

"Is that even possible?" Valerie whispered, knowing the FBI had ways to secure their phones and computers in ways most normal people didn't.

"What else are the possibilities? It cut off minutes if not seconds after the call ended," Jack answered with a low rumble.

"This is a serious matter, Jack. You need to tell June about this," Valerie stated, her whispered voice raising minutely. Jack shushed her.

"And go back in there? She'll lure the entire state-budget out of me," he stated dryly, but pushed himself out of his chair.

"I'll talk to her tomorrow. I've had enough of gum-chewing yuppies to last me the rest of the day. Or year, for that matter," he stated in a normal tone of voice, not deeming this piece of information useful for any potential

He walked to the door and opened it in gesture for her to leave. Valerie raised herself from the chair, and joined Jack by the door, but before walking out, she hesitated.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Valerie," he prompted, waiting for her to leave.

"What about Will Graham?" she asked, and Jack almost groaned out loud. She just had to mention Will Graham.

"We know he's not in Baltimore, and we have no reason to suspect he's working together with someone. Unless we're counting the man with the european accent, which we weren't when we arrested him," she continued. They couldn't keep him without probable cause.

"Release him, but tell him to come back tomorrow for a psych eval-," Jack responded tiredly before he cut himself off.

"European accent," he murmured, suddenly alert.

"No," Jack muttered, staring wide-eyed out into the air. "He couldn't have."

"What?" Valerie asked, worried by the sudden revelation Jack seemed to be having.

"Hannibal," he stated before stepping towards his coat stand, swiftly grabbing his coat and speeding out of the office and down the hallway.

Blinking in confusion at his abrupt exit, Valerie was left standing just inside his office with a dumbstruck look on her face. 'Hannibal? As in Hannibal Lecter?' she thought to herself.

Raising a brow at this absolutely ridiculous game of cat and mouse she set off to get Will Graham released. And then maybe she would pay the lovely June a visit.

* * *

The trip to Baltimore felt like an entire lifetime rather than the actual hour it took. And the entire way her mind had been working overtime, trying to come up with what questions she could possibly ask Hannibal.

'Did you coincidentally see my phone lying around in your grand, immaculate palace of a house but decided _not _to alert me?'. Hmm, no. Too conspicuous. But really, what wasn't?

The entire situation was conspicuous, and no matter how politely Hannibal would doubtlessly answer her probing questions, she was still the one showing up and acting like the FBI.

This had 'terrible idea' written all over it. And she had agreed to it. Ugh. Stupid. Necessary, but stupid.

There were already two cars parked in Hannibal's driveway as she pulled up to the curb. It seemed she would also be disturbing him. Lovely.

Pocketing the keys after parking the car she walked to the front door with hurried steps, pushing herself not to dawdle. The faster she got her answers, the faster she could go home. But her knocks on the polished door went unanswered. For five minutes she stood outside the door, waiting for an answer.

With one last knock and a push on the doorbell for good measure, she stepped back and contemplated her options. She could go home and come back another day when he wasn't so obviously busy, or she could grab the bull by its horns and be proactive about her life.

With one last hesitant sigh she decided on doing things the difficult way and grabbed the handle. The door was unlocked. She almost wanted to close the door, go back to Will's car and drive all the way back to Virginia.

But she pushed the door open and let herself in. After all, Will's car had horrible gas mileage. It would be a terrible thing to waste that amount of gas. That was what she told herself, anyway, before she dried off her shoes and turned to survey her options.

She wasn't entirely familiar with the layout of the house but knew the way to his home office, where she would hopefully find him. It was a small trip through the dining room, up the stairs and down a hallway before she stood planted outside his office.

It was with a hesitant knock on the door, that she pushed it open, and the image before her had her rendered completely speechless. Her mouth hung open in utter disbelief, as she tried—and failed—to process what was happening right in front of her.

Hannibal turned towards her.

"Hello, Ashland."


End file.
